All the hubbub of Christmas and Hanukkah (pick your own spelling) and Kwanzaa has largely passed us by this year, and I would have forgotten all about it if the mailman didn’t drop a metric fuckton of holiday cards through the slot every day (which goes to show- you do not have to send cards to get any, at least not when your mother in law is busy sending wedding announcements to family that did not attend; family which includes THIRTY-ONE persons in J’s generation alone).

2010 was a big enough year for the both of us, without adding in the holidays on top- this year’s greatest hits include quitting my job, moving to California, getting married in Vancouver, and getting pregnant, and most of that happened between March and September, which makes for a rather busy six months.  So this year we’re not getting each other anything, and jetting off tomorrow for a week in Mexico that will serve as both honeymoon and babymoon, before we return home and spend January through June “nesting” (or in my case, alternately ignoring or freaking out about the impending addition to our family).

Aside: I assume this will continue throughout the pregnancy- every time I have to tell someone new that I’m pregnant, it’s like I hear it coming out of my mouth, but I’m not quite convinced it’s me saying it.  For example, I decided to tell all the yoga teachers at my studio I’m pregnant, and since there are about 20 of them, and I go to classes a little bit all over the schedule, I have to tell someone new about every week.  And EVERY SINGLE TIME, I’m struck again by the fact that I, NOEMI, and saying THAT, about MYSELF.

I guess at some point my belly will start doing the talking for me, although at this point I am skirting the line between preggo and just really fat around the midsection (and by skirting, I mean, I’m kidding myself- I’m just fat).  And then I suppose I will have to deal with belly-touchers.  A friend who knows I am pregnant came to a holiday get-together at our place and patted my midsection in the area right below my boobs, which is currently filled with nothing but Rice Krispie treats, and dear LORD, did it piss me off.  FIRST, the fetus is hovering somewhere around my pubic bone, as near as I can poke, not anywhere in the vicinity of my bra line, and SECOND, for the love.  STOP TOUCHING ME.

Anyhoodle.  All this to both fulfill my self-imposed obligation to post at least once a week, and to wish you all a very happy holiday season, where ever you might be, and in whatever way you celebrate (and for my Jews, sorry I’m late).  I’ll be in Mexico, sipping a (virgin) drink with an umbrella.

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