Gather ’round, and let me tell you a tale- a hunt for lasagna that nearly ended my marriage.
It all began on a Christmas Eve 2 years ago. I was 10ish weeks pregnant… and on the tail end of the flu. Friends? Do not get the flu when you are pregnant.
My first trimesters are always 12-16 weeks of my hate/hate relationship with food. I am incredibly fortunate in that I don’t puke. I also just don’t eat.
I can’t eat.
CAN. NOT. EAT.
It’s food aversions to the max. Water aversions. Smell aversions. Thoughts of food aversions.
So when my mind does settle on something it’s willing to consider allowing past the gate of my clenched teeth, I have to give it SUPER IMPORTANT status, and set out to hunt it down. Immediately.
And so it was, on that Christmas Eve, while on a 6 hour road trip back home from visiting family (so that’s 1st trimester pregnant, the flu, AND A CAR RIDE all working against me), it came to me that perhaps I might like to eat a lasagna.
Yes… yes. A lasagna sounded quite palatable. Not just any old gourmet, homemade lasagna, though. I craved the salty, processed goodness of a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna.
Had I ever eaten one of these before? Not in recent memory. But my brain was convinced it knew exactly what it would taste like, and it was convinced it was LITERALLY the only thing I even remotely wanted to eat for the past week.
We arrived back home at 8 pm on Christmas Eve, a car full of luggage, family presents, and 2 cranky kids who were anxious for Santa to arrive that night.
We also arrived home to a house with no food in it, and certainly no Stouffer’s frozen lasagna. So we drove right past and went to the only place in town that was still open- Walmart, which is exactly the kind of place that carries Stouffer’s lasagna in bulk, so it was good. Except the place was to close in 30 minutes.
I’d been talking about the lasagna for at least the last hour of the drive. Intermittently, of course. Very trepidatiously, as if too much talk of it would change my mind.
Regardless, Scott knew it’s the only thing I wanted to eat, but he was not on board. Some of his rebuttals were:
“SERIOUSLY? That’s disgusting, Jill. Do you know how much salt is in there?”
“Well, I’m not getting it for everyone. I don’t want to eat that. Why don’t we get something else? There’s NOTHING else you want to eat?”
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll just get something different for the kids and me.”
Scott and Leyna, just a tiny tot at the time, jumped out of the car to run in while I stayed in the car with sleeping Kendall.
To me, the understanding was that the lasagna was written in Sharpie on the imaginary shopping list. Whatever else he wanted to throw in the cart was fine, but the lasagna was going to make it’s way out of the store doors and eventually into my famished, fickle stomach.
There are 2 different stories here, and to this day we will each hold up our own versions as truth. Scott called from inside and said something about tacos. He was cutting out, and he was in a rush since the store was trying to close. I agreed to the tacos FOR EVERYONE ELSE.
He thought I finally came around to understanding the toxic sludge that I was craving and agreed to tacos for everyone.
He left the frozen lasagna behind, though I didn’t know this until we pulled out of the parking lot, the store doors locking as we drove away.
What followed is an emotional meltdown I can only compare to what would happen if someone took a toddler’s lovie and lit it on fire as they watched.
I felt betrayed. LEGITIMATELY. Betrayed.
I felt belittled and ignored and DEEPLY saddened. I sobbed uncontrollably as I sputtered on about trust and love and despair through the rivers of snot that dripped down my chin.
Oh, you guys. It was just as bad or worse than I’m describing it.
And Scott, befuddled and frustrated, ranted on about me being irrational and dramatic. Which I think we alllllll know how a pregnant woman will react to that.
It was, without a doubt, THE worst fight we’ve ever had.
After a couple hours of me, crying in the fetal position in bed back at home (oh yes, serious… but also remember- FLU), Scott came in with keys in hand and told me he was headed out. He’d be right back. I assumed he probably needed to get batteries for one of the toys or something.
He walked back in carrying a bag from Walgreens full of nothing but 2 single-serve portions of Stouffer’s frozen lasagna.
On the table sat my laptop, open to a Google search for Walgreens info, and another tab with a search for where to buy the Stouffer’s lasagna.
We hugged, and he wiped my tears. We made up. He put one of the servings in the microwave for me.
And 15 minutes later, I took the first long-awaited bite of the lasagna I so desperately craved.
Then I spit it out and choked, “Oh God, this is disgusting. I can’t eat this….. Take it. Get it away from me.”
We still have the 2nd serving of lasagna.