We have arrived.
Thanksgiving week is here.
I can’t eat my normal impressive amount of food after being sick for so long, so I’ll be studying how to stretch my stomach out this week like I’m going to Coney Island for Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest.
We are FINALLY enjoying cooler weather in Las Vegas, and no one is happier about that than a pregnant girl.
…slash a suddenly heavier girl who can wear stretchy pants and sweaters.
My friend Andrea and I debated the summer baby maternity wardrobe and winter baby maternity wardrobe. I’ve only been 7 months + during hot months, so I’m still team winter babies as of right now. Hiding not-so-freshly shaven legs in long pants, having some compression on swollen extremities, and people think pregnant eating is endearing really does it for me. “Here, mommy, you need some food! Eat this!” “She’s growing a baby! Make sure she eats!”
This is so awesome.
Somehow, I’ve already gained fifteen pounds even after being sick (I only know because I accidentally forgot to squint and not look at my last weigh-in), so I’m pretty sure I am more than okay on eating, but alright. I’ll eat all this fudge. I’m wearing a maternity sweater!
That major bullet point-shameless food enjoyment-is reason number one I refuse to steam roll Thanksgiving with premature Christmasing this year.
I celebrate, even worship, a day devoted to just cooking and eating and picking at food, even when you’re so full your underwire hurts.
It takes me back to my 2014 2014 post about everyone that puts up their Christmas decor pre-Thanksgiving , which I’m not necessarily against. Every fun, festive person, every store, EVERYONE puts out Christmas decorations in November, and go them.
Not me, though.
Not this year.
This is my moment: pregnant, in that feel-good, sweet spot of the trimesters, and fulllllly clothed.
Wait a minute and let this fat girl have her day, Santa.