While I was dropping Carter off at daycare this morning, one of the women who works there sidled up to me in the kitchen while I was putting his bottles in the fridge and said with a knowing look (insert heavy Armenian accent) "You are looking pregnant lately."
Awesome. Apparently I either have to cut back on the cupcakes or stop wearing old maternity shirts to work (which, in my defense, are NOT actually maternity shirts because I bought 'em at Forever 21, but they are admittedly flowy - but it's 95+ degrees in the valley, people! Give a hot mommy a break!).
A few short years ago a comment like this might have sent me into a tailspin of self-loathing and eating disordered behavior, in keeping with your typical 20-something Los Angeleno female. But no more. This body made a person. This body pushed him out drug-free! This body is the only one I've got, and by damn, I will eat my cupcakes and wear my $7 shirts and work it.