Thursday, July 18, 2013

Regular Old Helper

I always wondered what my pregnancy cravings would be like, since I already tend to enjoy eating things that other people (ahem, Gary) find totally repulsive, like grocery store sushi or Subway tuna sandwiches with ranch dressing and extra pickles.

Pickles and ice cream, for example, that most infamous of odd pregnancy cravings, never really sounded all that bad to me (especially if the pickles happened to be of the Famous Dave's variety) and I was kind of looking forward to having an excuse to be even weirder than usual.

As it turns out, I am the most boring pregnant lady in the world, because I crave nothing. In fact, the consumption of food has kind of been robbed of all joy for me. I have to eat every couple of hours to keep from feeling sick, and I can't tell you how many times I've gotten halfway through a snack and thought to myself, "Am I seriously still chewing this? DOES THIS GRAHAM CRACKER HAVE NO END?"

For now, all I know is that there's a growing list of things I can't eat - including but not limited to unflavored water, cooked vegetables, and any piece of land-dwelling animal meat larger than a pea - not because they're unsafe for pregnancy, but just because my body is rebelling against the alien being growing inside it and stealing all its nutrients*.

Enter my genius husband. We had Hamburger Helper for dinner last night because ground beef is one of the only meats that fits the smaller-than-a-pea criteria. Also because we're trashy.

Once we had finished, he noticed the bowl full of meat sitting in front of me (because I had just picked out all the noodles) and suggested that maybe next time we try making it without the meat, which solidified him forever in my mind as The Smartest Man Who Ever Walked the Earth.

*And who was recently spotted punching herself in the face repeatedly. Maybe she heard one of us talking about our checking account balance? I don't know, but we had another ultrasound yesterday and she was just goin' at it. I had the presence of mind not to yell out, "WHY YA HITTING YOURSELF? WHY YA HITTING YOURSELF?" while my doctor was still standing there, 'cause I'm not sure if someone can report you to CPS before the baby is born, but I'm not taking any chances.

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