someone else can drive next year!

For the last three years, Rob and I have attended Montana Beer Fest, first as our "bachelor/bachelorette" party before we got married, then as a celebration of our anniversary. This year, we knew I'd obviously be unable to partake, but we were still determined to go. I bought a maternity tank and some iron-on studs and made myself a "DD" shirt so that I could have a flashy answer to anyone who raised an eyebrow at my presence.

Though the tank top turned out just as I'd imagined, I didn't realize that each "D" would be precisely positioned over each one of my girls. It was a little too, uh, attention-getting. I put a cardigan over top and prepared to display it discreetly as needed, but figured my water bottle (not beer-tasting cup) and belly would speak the volumes necessary. Despite my plans to keep it klassy and have a photo for you, my tens of readers, I think you'll understand when I aim for modesty THIS ONE TIME.

Turns out that a pregnant lady gets either ignored or a LOT of focused attention at a beer festival. Most people didn't look twice, but the ones that did seemed to really take note. In fact, Rob was chatting up a work acquaintance when this same acquaintance's friend saw my belly peeking from my coat (it was a chilly night) and gasped, exclaimed "YOU'RE PREGNANT, OH MY GOSH!" and put his hand on my stomach in delight. He then looked at my bemused face, realized with horror that he didn't know me, and, eyes wide, snatched his hand away as if burned, apologizing profusely.

The guy was probably mid-twenties, and the whole interaction was so disarmingly sweet and unexpected that I mentally took back my declaration of a few weeks before:
Thought for the day (a warning to strangers that will never see it, but still worthwhile): Rubbing my belly for good luck only works if you think "good luck" is being punched in the face by a pregnant woman. I have very clear boundaries, and if we were on a first name basis, you'd know that already.

Granted, he wasn't aiming for luck and quickly introduced himself; the whole thing has made me laugh numerous times since then. It helped that he worked for the brewery who had the favorite beer for the night (I usually had a sip of whatever Rob was trying, but beer has largely lost its appeal in pregnancy, which is really really helpful!): a bourbon-barrel-aged oatmeal stout from Lone Peak Brewery in Big Sky. YUM.

And happy anniversary to RobRob, my heartthrob, who really didn't know what he was getting into but who has handled that with remarkable aplomb. It's been three full years, and when I asked what stuck out most to him, his charmingly sentimental answer was "My absolute favorite times are those when I make you laugh, really laugh. That's the best." I was thinking anything from miraculous sale of house or condo, trip to Hawaii, getting debt-free, building a home/family together... you know, the stuff to write home about. But after having experienced making HIM really laugh in surprise earlier that evening, I had to agree: That's the best.