We ate burnt artichoke chicken sausages and salmon. We lit legal and illegal fireworks in my front yard. The dogs shivered in the darkened bathroom. We celebrated our independence.
I spent the evening angry at my husband. When we went to buy the fireworks he gawked at a Red Bull promo girl. Now, I am aware that my husband is only human, but I am also pregnant. I am only going to get bigger for several more months, and after that who knows what my body will look like. I was mostly mad because he could not understand why my feelings were hurt.
Then I got mad at myself. Here I am, attempting to create a human being, and I am concerned about my sexiness. How selfish. Then my anger turned to the media. Look at all of the sexy mothers-to-be on TV. Angelina was hotter as a pregnant woman than I could ever be, and I am trying to hold myself up to some strange standard. Not to mention that Angelina now looks as if she may be battling an eating disorder.
So I stopped being pissed. I started thinking about the health of myself and the baby. I started to feel sorry for those who always feel that frantic "I'm not good enough" feeling that I had for an evening. I began to be grateful that I have enough money to eat plenty of healthy food during my pregnancy. I was able to sleep soundly.