At 22 weeks pregnant with my first baby, I was finally starting to feel good about the way I looked as a future mama – the shock had worn off (mostly), my fuller tummy now had a decisive baby bump, and my skin (which had broken out like the onset of a vicious second puberty) was starting to calm down.
I was wearing a fitted black dress and boots and was feeling more like myself than I had for months, if a little nervous.
The cause for alarm? My partner and I were headed out to his twin nephews’ pirate-themed fifth birthday party (I know, not generally a code red). But I have a checkered history with his family, and my sister-in-law generally goes out of her way to be nasty, so I was gearing up all morning for birthday cake with a side of potential mutiny.