Princess: So much to be thankful for
November 26, 2015
Happy turkey day, everyone!
I know you're probably eager to get your workout in before the big meal this afternoon. I can just picture you, the sun still behind the ridgeline, your breath a puff of smoke as you skin up Aspen Mountain, making sure to burn a lot more calories than you'll eat. I've dreamed about skinning up ol' Ajax, just to see if I can actually make it to the top before the ski patrol comes to turn me around at 9 a.m., but that's just it. I'm dreaming because I'm still asleep at 6:30 a.m., unlike you crazy effers.
The truth is that in a normal year I'd get out for a long run for the very same reason. It just makes the food taste better. This year, I'll try to lug my pregnant belly up Arbaney Kittle, which has been my measuring stick of can-do pregnancy fitness. It's not Ajax, but it's challenging enough for me.
It's nice to think this holiday is about more than making sure your workout justifies the amount of food you eat, even if I know that is the first thing on your mind this Thursday morning. So, what are you thankful for?
Here's my list:
First and foremost, I'm thankful for Ryan, whose tolerance for being married to a princess is all-time. I mean, this guy has feathers of steel. Nothing fazes him. My head could spin on my shoulders "Exorcist"-style, and he would probably do something practical like stop my head in mid-rotation and hold it there firmly while he stared the monster down. This comes in particularly handy when dealing with a wife who is up to her eyeballs in hormones. When I'm up all night, tossing and turning on account of the babes disco dancing in my belly, Ryan will stay up with me sometimes, engaging in those random, middle-of-the-night conversations that remind me just how lucky I am to be married to my best friend. So I'm thankful for that.
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I'm thankful for family, especially my in-laws who come here and immediately get to work on various projects around the house. This is something that is particularly foreign to my brood, who like to ease into the day sitting on the couch with their iPads and quadruple-shot lattes, whose idea of a tool is the Allen key they use to adjust their snowboard bindings.
"I'm good at signing checks," my mom recently said. "That's my skill."
All my friends have been assuming I'm busy with family, but I tell them the Margos actually free up a lot of my time because they are so busy doing stuff around the house that it's not like I have to sit around entertaining them. Like today, Ryan and Ron are off to get firewood in Silt, and then they'll paint the baby's room.
So yeah, I'm thankful for that.
I'm thankful for my friends, who will still love me despite skyrocketing hormone levels and will still love me even after I alienate the entire mommy community when I start sharing my truth about what this hoo-ha is all about. I won't get into that now, but I so don't get this whole culture of doing everything naturally. We live in the modern world, people! I plan to take advantage of that, what with things like pain control and vaccines. See? You're getting mad already; I can tell! So we'll save that for another day.
Anyway, just the other day I found myself in the dressing room at Free People with my friend Amanda, half-naked. By the by, I can't say enough about this store except for the fact that it has somehow managed to design whimsical clothes that make you feel covered in fairy dust and you will always find something that fits you, no matter what.
I'm a pretty modest girl, and it is not often I would allow anyone, not even my mother, to see my body. I'm actually a lot more shy around women than I am around men because women scrutinize and men just stand there and drool — not because I'm all that but just because men are kind of stupid when it comes to that stuff.
Amanda is the only person besides my husband who has seen my pregnant belly and my super-weird belly button. But there I was, modeling my incubator self in a bra and yoga tights as she fawned all over me, rubbing her cool hands on my skin and opening her blue eyes wide in true fascination and love as she went on and on about how great I look. I don't know if she was just saying what I wanted to hear, but even if she was, I'm grateful for that.
I'm grateful for my pug, who is so much more than a dog that I often wonder if she possesses some kind of magical spirit, like an angel or maybe even God herself. Last month I was hiking with a friend of mine who is a badass mountain chick and she was kind of rolling her eyes and scoffing every time we had to stop so Gertie could breathe.
"You don't get it, do you?" I asked her as she stood there with her arms folded across her chest, visibly annoyed that my dog was not up to her standards of canine athleticism.
"No, I don't. I don't get it at all," she said, never afraid to share her opinion.
"Well, she brings me joy every single day. And when I was in the depths of despair and had a hole in my heart, she filled it."
That shut her up. And while I was grateful for that, I'm even more grateful for my little flat-faced, furry baby.
And of course I'm grateful for the babes who has taken to disco dancing the night away in my belly, giving me hope he'll take after his wonderful father.
The Princess really does love you. Hug her back at email@example.com.
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