We had a three part thanksgiving. These pictures are from part three: thanksgiving at Kristin’s parents. This was my first thanksgiving married, pregnant and without Grandpa Carron and Grandad Foss. Paddy was chained to UVA soccer and couldn’t make the trip home for a day. Everyone rolled well with the punches.
Being home is a charming kind of fun. That house is a worn in leather boot, tethered soft and snug. My foot prints are imprinted all over the floors, each step is a familiar one. I still know where all the creaks are upstairs and I can hear someone’s foot steps on the stairs and tell you exactly who it is. Dogs, barn cats and horses roam in and out of view from foggy windows. A rusty patio set we’ve had as long as I can remember, sits vacant waiting for someone to rest. Pieces of the whimsical Atlantic find their way to the front steps and dry firewood came from a tree my dad chopped down during Hurricane season.
My mom inherited my grandpa’s happy-to-see-you dogs. They are Sarah and Annie, same as Michael’s youngest sister, Sarah Annie, which I always get a kick out of. Small coincidences make my world go round. The pies are from my sisters, both delicious and worth my sickness the next morning. I hope to be back in the swing of things soon, but I know better. I’ve come to embrace the sacrifices that are pregnancy, instead of treating them like undeserved inconveniences. I guess you could say, just in time. On Wednesday we had our 20-week ultrasound, which turned out to be more of a 19-week ultrasound. Either way, we’re having what looks to be a healthy girl and that’s happiness all around.
I’ve got plenty of planning, creating and cooking to do if my body will allow it!