Pregnancy cravings are one of those things that seem 100% delicious and satisfying in the moment, but once baby arrives, we start to question why on earth we wanted to eat pear slices dipped in horseradish.
We asked our Facebook community to share some of their pregnancy cravings and here’s what they had to say!
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.
It didn’t.
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.
So there’s this rock, this rock that my husband brought back from a Spring Break trip to the Grand Canyon about 9 years ago. This stupid rock that is nothing too spectacular that he insists on hanging on to and hauling around with us as we’ve moved from place to place over the years. It’s actually part of a collection of not so spectacular rocks that I sort of despise, but *this* rock is different.
THIS rock…
Has taken over my fantasies lately. I quite literally daydream about this rock, this delicious looking, rounded but not perfectly smooth, porous, grainy, gritty rock.
It all started last week when I was doing laundry. As I took the clothes from the washer and put them in the dryer, the smell was so… mouthwatering… so appetizing… it smelled just like what I would imagine rocks in ice cold water tasting like. And I really, really, really wanted to lick my washing machine.
After that, it was all I could think about- finding the perfect rock(s) to put in ice water. What they would look like, how they would feel in my mouth. I would catch myself daydreaming about sucking the ice water out of the perfect rock, except I didn’t know where or how to get that perfect rock. That is until I eyed this old collection of not so spectacular rocks my husband has insisted on keeping around and the angels shone a light on the most delicious looking rock I’ve ever laid eyes on (I’m fairly certain that’s not an exaggeration). DIVINE INTERVENTION! No?
What I really want is honest to goodness ice cold water on the rocks. I want to enjoy this frosty beverage.
And then, like the blue cheese olives left over after a good martini, I want to suck on the rock.
Of course, I haven’t allowed myself… yet. I mean, I GET that this is weird. I get that something is up with me for me to be craving ROCKS.
At 33 weeks pregnant with Kendall I was craving normal things like ice cold pineapple, oranges, spicy pickles and cookies.
Photo Courtesy of Regetis Photography
If I were to take this photo today, I’d be surrounded by rocks, buckets of grout, chips of concrete and BBQ sandwiches.
To answer the questions I know you all are about to ask me, YES, I’ve talked to my midwife about it. No, she’s not worried about it. Yes, my iron is low. Yes, I’m taking an iron supplement. From what she and my nurse tell me (and many a twitter friend has, as well) this is not normal, but it’s common among pregnant women.
I haven’t gone so far as to indulge in that icy rock water, but I have to say, I don’t really know what it would hurt. I mean, I could wash the rock really well first, right? And it’s not like I’m going to eat the rock. I just want to suck on it and lick it. This is so odd, so, so, so odd. It’s okay. You can all point and laugh.
Kendall is 2.5 and I’m 33 weeks pregnant
4 p.m. snack today
I had a chopped beef BBQ loaded and stuffed baked potato at Whole Foods yesterday and it completed me. This was my attempt to recreate the magic. Actually, it wasn’t half bad.
Ingredients:
1 baked potato (nuked in the microwave, not actually baked… who has time for that shit?)
2 tablespoons buttah (said like Paula Deen)
Big handful and a half of shredded cheese
1 Jimmy Dean cheese and turkey dog sliced
A whole bunch of Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce drizzled all over (keep the bottle on the table, you’ll need to add more to the boring bits of the potato left after you eat all the good stuff)
I consider this a pregnancy culinary masterpiece. Look out Pioneer Woman. I’m coming for ya! Next up, my pregnancy porn cookbook.
I’m 15 weeks pregnant. The Iphone app told me this morning the baby is the size of an avocado. That immediately made me crave guacamole.
And lunch, and even breakfast.
It started about a week ago, a friend posted a picture of a steak on her Facebook status. I was drawn to it, salivating, suddenly finding myself drawn in by food rather than repulsed by it. It was fleeting, though, as I haven’t been much of a steak eater lately. But I sat there, flipping through the channels, and ran across the PFPW Channel (Porn For Pregnant Women), also known as The Food Network. That Sonic the Hedgehog looking guy was making BBQ brisket. The way he poured the sauce on it, the way it dribbled through all the cracks of the meat, the way the bun soaked it up, I was ENTRANCED. It was 10 pm and I NEEDED a BBQ brisket sandwich.
I didn’t get my fix until the next day when, exhausted and wondering what the hell I was thinking deciding to go to the zoo when it was 95 out, we walked into a cafe near the lion exhibit. I nearly crawled over the people in front of us in line when I saw they had BBQ beef brisket sandwiches on the menu. It was, like, the best sandwich of my life. I did not share one single crumb. I threw fries at my child to keep him at bay.
Not actual sandwich, but accurately depicts deliciousness.
Over the next 48 hours I consumed 3 more BBQ beef brisket sandwiches, each as heavenly as the last. As I type this, I want nothing more than another BBQ brisket sandwich.
Tonight, I was craving straight up bovine. Yeah, you buddy.
You are not cute, you are delicious.
I wanted a fat hunk of red meat. It’s all I could think about. We attended a lovely little birthday party today, complete with delicious cupcakes which I wanted nothing to do with because they were not bleeding and did not, at any point in their previous life, moo.
It was a Code Red Alert on the way home. We pulled off at Outback Steakhouse, where I indulged in a fantastic medium steak, like this…
It’s uncontrollable. I’m unstoppable. There is not a walking piece of beef safe from the desires of my fetus. And let me tell you, the fetus does not care if the cow was a happy cow, if the cow was fed organically, if the cow fell asleep on a lush bed of hay. The fetus laughs at my attempts to “eat local” and “reduce meat consumption.” The fetus WANTS BEEF NOW.
I’m 12.5 weeks pregnant, and OMG, this post is making me hungry… again.