Page 110 of Hunted: Season Two

This shit isdefinitelya Halloween costume.

Why did I let Posie convince me to buy this?!

Why am I wearing it?!

Who wears something like this to a Christmas festival?!

Better yet.

Who wears something like this to a Christmas festival when they’re pregnant?!

I turn the opposite direction and study my reflection a second time.

Okay.

Fine.

Maybe I’m wearing itbecauseI’m pregnant?

Because I want the men in my life to see me as this sexy little thing, they can’t keep their hands off of versus the fragile female that’s only important because she’s housing their unborn child?

I shift myself forward and untuck the strands that managed to get caught underneath the red hood of the sexy, Mrs. Santa outfit I’ve put on, fuzzy trimmed boots and all.

Honestly?

I look phenomenal and this chunky black belt hides where my stomach is starting to pooch quite well.

Is part of me convinced that I’m too old to be dressing like this?

Yes.

One thousand percentyes.

But who really gets to decide that?

If I’m happy and comfortable in my own skin, in what I’ve got going on with me, isn’t that all that should matter?

Kind of like being in a relationship with two men instead of one?

I don’t let what other peoplemaywhisper about us get in my head.

Why should me strutting around in something that looks like I want you to ride me instead of a sleigh be any different?

Grabbing my small clutch and exiting our work in progress apartment is a complicated feat.

Between renovations, reorganizing, and Christmas preparations along with decorating, the entire space is one giantHome Alonetribute trap.

How we manage to have coffee or a meal in the kitchen is basically a baby in a manager miracle.

So, like in one column?

Very excitedabout the changes.

We’re buildingourhome.

We’re buildingourfamily.

We’re buildingourlives.

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