A Fat Guy Called Me Fat, and I Have Thoughts…
I stopped in at my husband’s job two months ago and said hello to a few of his coworkers, many of whom are people I’ve spent time around before. After this encounter, one of his coworkers, a male, asked my husband if I was pregnant.
Now, I know where the mind typically wanders upon hearing about something like that:
“How rude!”
“You never ask a woman that!”
“Who raised this person?”
Those are all fair reactions to have. My reaction was a little different, though. At first, I wondered: Is he going to offer to help set up our baby registry? Is he concerned for the mortality rate of Black mothers in labor? Probably not…
In my eyes, I was pregnant – pregnant with a food baby. It was the month of December, meaning my diet consisted of pasta in garlic cream sauce, Christmas cookies, my favorite wine, Belgian waffles, and loaded French fries, to name a few items. For me, December is a time for family, food, and fun. We’ve been working hard all year, so it’s our time to relax and indulge, and I love to indulge.
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