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I knew going into this summer that I wouldn’t spend it like I have spent most summers.  That is just reality.  There were a few things that I was seriously looking forward to though and last weeks Kenny Chesney concert was one of them.  Now, if you don’t like him, or live under a rock and don’t know who he is, then you are wrong and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.  If the Husband would let me name this little nugget, inhabiting my body, Chesney, I would do it.  He won’t, I tried.  Moving on though, concert.

I’m a member of the fan club (quit judging), which got me floor seats, about 20 rows back, with a few others who joined me.  We also made a lot of new friends of the drunk variety by the end of the night.  I pulled on a new KC t-shirt over bump, got a couple of bottles of water and proceeded to dance, sing and scream at the top of my lungs with my new-found friends.  I smelled like a keg by the end of the night, the bottom of my shoes were sticky with God only knows what, my voice was hoarse and no one was near their seats as we all mixed into one big dance party.

Not only was the concert just pure greatness, as always, it was a few hours that I could lose myself a bit.  I could feel normal and the focus wasn’t on impending baby.  You don’t realize how much your life slowly becomes about that. People want to ask you questions, it is an obvious go-to topic, and you are suddenly labeled the pregnant person in the room whether you want to be or not.  I can’t escape it.  Sure, it is nice every now and then but I just want people to talk to me about something unrelated sometimes and not stare at my bump at the same time.  I don’t want people putting their judging eyes on me, treating me like I’m breakable, and acting like boundary lines don’t exist.  I’m over it quite frankly.  So for one night, it was gone, and I enjoyed every fucking minute of it.

How did baby do?  From the moment the music started pumping, she didn’t stop moving and grooving.  She literally went non-stop until we hit the bed at 2am.  She is truly my kid.  That 6am alarm sucked pretty bad but I was grateful for one thing, the lack of a hangover that I surely would have had if I wasn’t pregnant.  The good news is, the next concert that comes around, I will have all the rum and happily take the following day off of work to nurse my hangover.