Busted with the butter

If you'll recall, I like to always have snacks at the ready. Trust me, you want it this way, too. Hungry Debbie is not Good Times Debbie.

So, I'm walking across the highway this morning with a coworker. A very thin coworker. In my ginormous purse I have packed a yogurt, grapes, a miniature loaf of zucchini bread (thanks, Mom!) and a tub of butter. WHAT? I bet you carry crazy stuff in your bag, too. The contents of my purse just happen to be perishable. Okay, yes, it's perhaps a bit much, but it's not like that's just today's breakfast. The grapes and yogurt are for snacks, and the zucchini bread will take me through breakfasts/morning snacks for the rest of the week, and like, I said, it is a miniature loaf.

Anyway, back to the morning march. While I am comfortable carting around groceries in my handbag, I don't necessarily want my coworker to see the butter peeking out of the pantry that is my purse. Of course she does. And, being the funny girl that she is, she ribs me about it during the remainder of our walk. She does tell me that I look great and she likes the color of my sweater, so I forgive her. I am so easy sometimes, it's crazy. No wonder I'm pregnant.

So, fast forward to breakfast time. I have just finished my slice of zucchini bread and I'm returning the butter to our department's mini fridge. Wouldn't you know it, I run smack dab into a guy who's wife was a total waif during all 18 of her pregnancies. Awesome. I excuse myself, continue past him and his judging eyes, and run into a marathon-running coworker who has never had children. Even better. She, too, smiles and says nothing. I'm sure they didn't even notice, and if they did, they were probably more concerned about the knife in my other hand, but still. I can't help but feel like I'm being judged. The reason I feel this way, of course, is that prior to growing this soccer ball in my stomach (seriously, that's the size of my uterus this week), I would have totally judged a pregnant chick walking around the office with a tub of butter. By the way, you do notice that I'm saying butter and not margarine, right? That's totally intentional. I'm a butter girl now. Butter is natural, and that is my defense. Calories, schmalories.

To top off my list of troubles, I'm fairly certain Chip shorted me on the coffee this morning. My doctor begrudgingly allowed me one small travel mug of coffee each day, but I have a sneaking suspicion Chip doesn't agree with this plan, and is therefore not giving me a full pour. I'm sure he would tell me it's so I won't slosh scalding hot coffee onto my hand, but I think we both know what's really going on here. More judging.