There comes a time in every pregnancy where "You don't even look pregnant!" changes from complement to insult. I am six months pregnant, and that time is now.
I understand the impulse not to want to inadvertently hurt someone's feelings by guessing she is pregnant when she is not, but, dude. I had my 24/25 week appointment yesterday, and I am measuring at 29 weeks. I look pregnant. (I also have big, nine-to-ten pound babies, so the news that I am measuring large was met with little surprise. Scott: "Shocker.") So, to those of you who want to say that I don't look pregnant, or even, "Did you already have the baby?", please refrain.
At the farmer's market the other day we bought apples, onions, eggs, raspberries, and sweet corn. You heard me. Raspberries and sweet corn. Right there on the table next to the butternut squash and chestnuts. In October. Grown in a community where it is not considered unusual to wade through snow on Halloween. I should be excited to have so much local produce still available, but it feels wrong, somehow. Very "all the seasons shall become one." But we took our purchases home, and the kids enjoyed their apocalyptic berries and corn on the cob with dinner.
Fall is coming, though. Eli and I saw lots of "punkies" on our drive to the OB yesterday. We stopped at a coffee shop on our way home and split a "punkie" scone. Sharing something Katherine can't eat with Eli always gives me a vaguely uncomfortable feeling, like I'm stepping out on her. I'm glad she is the oldest, so we can balance the food unfairness with, "But you can do this!"
The arrival of fall and my hormonal urges are making me feel like doing nest-y things. First on my list: copy Amy Karol's idea for a recipe cheat sheet for the side of the fridge. Genius!
I'm off to listen to the school nutritionist speak at the PTO meeting. This should be interesting.