Pregnancy is super weird.
Don’t get me wrong, there are really fun parts! It’s fun to rub my belly and sing songs to the little swimmer in there. It’s fun to look at baby things and plan what sort of nerdy onesies I’m going to force onto the poor youngling.
But man alive… the cravings are so weird.
I want fried food! But if you give me fried chicken, I will be sick. I’m so nauseous, even smells bother me. But I also want to eat the entire pantry. What do you mean I already ate all the frozen green beans? Didn’t I just buy two packages?
The weirdest part too is when the cravings actually hit.
It was a quiet weeknight, but one of those uneasy nights too… the kind when my husband is away on the ship taking his watch, leaving me as steward of our fortress. The entire neighbourhood was fast asleep and peaceful, save the rhythmic thumping of a stereo’s bass from somewhere out in the parking-lot. Suddenly, I awoke with a start. I shifted uncomfortably in the bed, sensing that something was wrong, but unable to put my finger exactly on the source of the problem. That’s when I heard it… the slow gurgle of my stomach, screaming for sustenance like a starved prisoner. I barely had a chance to wonder what I was hungry for before the NEED hit me, raging stronger than any blood lust a beserker has ever known.
Mac ‘n Cheese. I needed Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. And I needed it now.
I sat up, stretching a little and trying to reason with myself before quickly learning that you can’t tell a pregnant woman she doesn’t REALLY want what she’s craving (not even when that pregnant lady is yourself). There was no husband beside me to convince me that heading out into the dangerous night for a mere snack was a foolish endeavor, no voice of reason to tell me that going out this late as a woman alone in “da hood” was a bad idea. The night was dark and full of terrors, but my stomach was rumbling and full of hunger! Throwing on clothes, I crept from my house like a vampire on the prowl and started towards the Mecca of insomniac foodies: the WaWa. There on the shelf near the beer cooler, sitting like the last nugget of gold after the California Gold Rush of 1849, was a singular box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I greedily brought it to the cash register, the sleepy cashier glaring at me and surely wondering why a chunky miser like me was out so late. But there was no time for explanations. The clock was already reading 3:30am and I needed this mac n’ cheese in my stomach more than I needed oxygen. Home I sped with a fever unmatched by even the great stead Shadowfax himself to quickly make the delicious meal with added heavy cream for an extra cheesy and creaming flavour.
And I ate it. God help me, I ate it all. I ate the entire box. Not just a serving. No, not even two. I ate the entire box of mac n’ cheese. That’s four servings.
Totally worth it.