Babies make you hungry, but for most new moms, it’s hard to find time to sit down to three hot meals a day. Snacks are going to become life sustaining, and it’s important that you’re able to eat them with one hand! Why? Because you’re not going to want to put your beautiful baby down, or they won’t want you to put them down. Either way, lots of holding is going to happen, and you need at least one arm and hand for that.
Last night, I was at a loss for dinner ideas. Kendall desperately wanted pancakes. I bought an apple pancake mix from the The Apple Barn in Sevierville, TN last weekend, and he’s been begging me to make him some ever since I stepped off the plane.
Really, they were a “gift” for Scott. He makes the pancakes around here… on weekend mornings with the kids while I sleep in.
What? One time he gave me a panini grill for Christmas, okay? We’re not even remotely close to even yet.
But Scott was working late and the kids were famished. Even though I had zero other ideas, I wasn’t too excited, personally, about pancakes for dinner. I fried some eggs to add to our plates for a little protein… then thought, hmmmm, maybe I’ll just turn mine into a sandwich.
But I can’t have a sandwich without some sort of cheese on it, and I thought I really should add some sort of produce to this meal, even if just some sliced apples on the side….
Or on the sandwich! With goat cheese!
You want this, folks. You want it in your mouth now.
I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, some sort of culinary genius, but I was raised by a mother who has the ability to make SOMETHING out of nothing when it comes to food.
She was creative out of necessity in the kitchen when I was growing up, a single mom who worked several jobs at once. Every now and then ( not too often), a little bit of her creativity with meals comes through in me. Thanks, mom.
To recap, ingredients (makes one sandwich):
2 pancakes (I made apple pancakes from a mix. You could opt to use apple sauce in regular pancake mix.)
1 fried egg
1-2 tablespoons of crumbled goat cheese (If you’re not a fan of the cheese of goats, I think a sharp cheddar would be nice, too.)
2-3 slices of apple (I used a honey crisp.)
Smoosh and nom.
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.
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.
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.
Not even 2 yet, and he’s already trying to fool me with his trickery.
Kendall and I had a date tonight where we shared a cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate milkshake. None of it organic. None of it healthy. All of it delicious. We both left with the buttons of our pants undone, and even still, I had to unzip his pants a bit before I buckled him into the carseat.
Kendall is 22.5 months old, and probably gained a pound or two tonight.
I don’t think I understood how important it is to “pick your battles” until I became a mom. There are SO MANY small and large battles you could fight, an overwhelming, unending list of things you could worry about. I learned the hard way in the beginning, but that’s sort of a new mom rite of passage, I think.
I began motherhood knowing that I wouldn’t ever be perfect at it, but dammit, I was going to freaking try! And so I fought all those unending battles – finding all the *best* gear, keeping clothes stain free, always having more than enough diapers in the diaper bag (and a backup stash in the car), doing everything in my power to make sure that my screaming baby never disturbed anyone other than myself while out in public (leading me to have no choice but to lock myself and my infant in our house for three months), keeping every spec of dust and debris out of reach of my precious child and his curious hands. Then, well, I was tired. I was SO TIRED. And so I started prioritizing… or maybe I just got lazy. Regardless, it made life easier. It lowered my stress level, and now I don’t feel so pressured to try so hard.
Kodak, the sponsor of this week’s lovely JuiceBoxJungle ad >>>, wants to know what three things are at the top and what three are at the bottom of my mom worry list, so here they are.
1. My kid’s safety – I’ve blogged about my Mommy Visions on here before, and how I can look at nearly anything that’s seemingly innocent and innocuous and vividly imagine how it might hurt or kill my child. I obsess about things like when to turn his car seat around, and what I’m going to do with him at the grocery store when he’s over 35 lbs because those grocery carts say it’s only safe to put them in the front up to 35 lbs.
2. What he eats- I’ve also recently started writing a lot about our efforts to eat more local, responsibly raised, sustainable. and organic food. However, from day one I’ve always been pretty consumed with what he’s consuming. I spent hours researching what fruits and vegetables I should introduce to him first and how to prepare them. I strive to offer a rainbow of whole foods at every meal. I truly think that my efforts are being rewarded by seeing how much my toddler loves nearly every fruit and vegetable he tries. I will say, though, that I don’t think of myself as a food Nazi. He’s had plenty of “bad” stuff from time to time, mainly because I don’t believe banning anything is going to do him any good.
3. His manners – It really stresses me out when he acts out in public. It truly does. Fortunately, I have to say it’s pretty rare. He seems to save most of his outbursts for when we’re home…. or stuck on a plane (which absolutely had me sweating bullets, but thankfully we don’t fly often). From 12 months to 18 months I was at a loss. He was a tiny little terrorist and I had no idea how to control him. He didn’t understand discipline, and I felt like everything I did to correct his behavior was only making it worse. I’m happy to report that the last few months have been much better. He at least understands the concept of timeout now. If I could just get him to stop laughing and running from me every time I tell him to do anything, I would be pretty happy with where we are in terms of his behavior.
1. Falls – Okay, oddly enough, I don’t even flinch when the kid falls anymore. Crazy coming from a mom whose number one worry is her child’s safety, I know. I think I’ve just come to terms with the fact that my little boy is a rowdy ball of energy, and he must have a pretty thick noggin. Also, it’s possible he’s part rubber. He falls all. the. time. The majority of the falls actually make him laugh. He also walks into things, like walls and windows, because he’s never looking where he’s going. He’s normally running away from me, looking over one shoulder and cackling like a little evil warlock. Then SMACK. I feel bad because when we’re around other moms and he falls they audibly gasp, run to him, soothe him, and ask if he’s okay all before I’ve taken a step. “Oh, he’s fine,” I always holler at them from across the room. And he almost always is.
2. TV- I know this is a heated topic, but it’s one I just don’t feel that passionately about. I’m not killing myself trying to make sure my child isn’t exposed to TV until college, or even the first few years, BUT THE STUDIES!! some of you are shouting at your computer screen. Listen, I didn’t plug my kid in front of Baby Einstein for hours on end as an infant hoping he’d know his colors and shapes by his 1st birthday, and it’s not like he’s sitting in front of a TV, zoning out all his waking hours. I’d be lying, though, if I said I don’t rely on a little help from PBS, Nick Jr. and Sprout to get me through my day. As much as I want him to go play with his “open ended” toys that inspire creativity and imagination, many times it’s just not happening, and I need to get the dishwasher loaded without him trying to inspire himself by running off with a steak knife. Also, sometimes he just really wants to watch “Go-go” (Diego), and I just really want to drink some coffee and check Facebook.
3. Messes- This one extends a little bit further beyond mom into the Stay At Home Mom category, for me. When we made the decision that I would stay at home, I remember telling my husband how our house would be SO clean because I would have “so much time” to do things like mop the floors and organize the pantry. Really, I *actually* thought that… until I had my outside baby. I was drowning in guilt the first 6 or 8 months of Kendall’s life, trying so hard to stay on top of everything, including all the household chores that I HATED while living off of next to no sleep. Then I had a lightbulb moment one day when I finally accepted that my “job” is a stay at home MOM, not a stay at home mom/housekeeper/organizer, and I was actually doing quite well at the MOM part. Our house is clean most of the time to a certain degree, but don’t go looking at my baseboards or my tile grout. There are splatters of dog slobber crusted to the wall here and there that will probably only disappear after we paint over them. There is food permanently stuck inside a ridge lining the perimeter of my kitchen table. I don’t care. I tell myself all the time, “A toddler lives here, 2 dogs and a cat live here, a maid does NOT live here.”
So what about you? What are your top and bottom 3? I’m sure everyone’s answers will vary, but it will be interesting to see which ones end up being the most popular.
Kendall is 21 months old, and right now I’m not worried he’s been napping for nearly 3 and a half hours
Changes are a coming. Yesterday, after a lovely 8 mile family run and a trip to Starbucks where I eternally screwed myself by introducing Kendall to the kid’s hot chocolate, we saw a sign at the entrance of a nearby outdoor mall. It was advertising LOCAL CHEESE, and FRESH BREAD. OMG! A Farmer’s Market! And not more than 5 miles from our house.
Sad thing is I’d seen these signs before. Hell, I’d even seen the booths set up outside before as I quickly walked past to get to Carters for their awesome sale on PJs. I never once put 2 and 2 together to figure out that this was EXACTLY the place we needed to be shopping. I never realized that I could get grass fed, locally grown, responsibly raised meat and eggs here. In fact, before we drove past the mall I was telling Scott that we needed to plan a trip out to a nearby farm this weekend to talk to them and try out some of their meat. Ha! Turns out we were able to do just that without the 1.5 hour round trip drive, just by swinging by the Four Seasons Market.
Granted, it didn’t have a huge selection. There wasn’t much produce to speak of, but, as advertised, there was local cheese and yogurt and bread. Better still, there were two farms represented, selling grass fed meat and eggs. We had a nice long chat with the couple who runs Sloans Creek Farm about how much we miss living in Virginia and how awesome Joel Salatin (of The Omnivore’s Dilemma and Food Inc. fame) is. They told us he’d be speaking at Plano’s Live Green Expo in April, which thrilled us like they’d just told us Joel McHale was coming to town. They even invited us out to their farm for a celebration they happen to be throwing this year on Kendall’s second birthday. I think we just might take them up on it.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have any chicken or eggs, so we headed to the other booth occupied by a local farm, Truth Hill Farm. Turns out we arrived too late in the day to pick up any eggs from them, too, but we were able to snag the last whole chicken they had in the freezer. I was so excited I asked the kind man to pose for a picture. I blabbed something about my “parenting blog” and how our “life is changing” and “you know, Food Inc?”, and I’m positive it all sounded Greek to him, but he kindly obliged my request.
With that major purchase out of the way, I headed to the Lucky Layla Farm booth to pick up some cheese and drinkable yogurt for Kendall. (I gave him some of that today, and he liked it so much he chewed the nipple off his sippy cup to suck every last drop out of there. Perhaps I should look into a straw next time.) The man, wearing a very broken in OU hat, was the picture of jolly, and more than happy to answer the string of questions I had about how and where his products were produced.
I was tempted to pick up some yummy smelling spices from Kurry King, but considering I don’t know what the heck to do with them, I figured my money was better spent on some basic food for now. So I spent the last bit of my $40 on two loaves of bread, a whole wheat loaf from the charming family that runs Rosey Ridge Farm, and another rustic white loaf from a young, nice girl who bakes all the bread for her WeMe Bread micro-bakery in East Dallas on her own.
Notice how I can tell you a little bit about each of the producers I purchased from? How simply amazing is that?I have never come home from the grocery store with a bag full of food and a head full of stories all about where and how that food was produced. I’ve never been able to put a face to the name on the label of my bread. I’ve never been able to visualize the actual farm my chicken was raised on. Simply amazing, and yet amazingly simple. Farmer raises meat, brings meat to market, you meet farmer, farmer tells you about his farm.
Okay, I will admit that I didn’t bring home as much “food” for my $40 as I would with a trip to a traditional grocery store, but that’s only if you consider “food” to be anything edible. What I did do was bring home what I believe to be a bag full of nothing but REAL food, no fillers, no junk, which is incredibly hard to find at a grocery store.
Here’s a picture of my “haul” (I laugh as I type that because my friend Michelle just introduced me to these “haul” videos on YouTube, and I am COMPLETELY CONFUSED by them. These people are going on and on about their Walmart and drugstore purchase for some reason I’ve yet to figure out, and NONE of them can read a receipt. For a lobotomy, click here and see what I mean.)
Breakdown of cost:
4.25 lb chicken $16.94
San Pedro block of cheese $10
2 drinkable yogurts $3
1 loaf rustic white bread $4
1 loaf whole wheat bread $5
Next week I hope we get there early enough to get a couple dozen eggs ($4/dozen) and some freshly made whole wheat linguini ($6/lb).
I’m so happy we found this place! At least between now and getting a deep freeze/placing a bulk order for meat we can hit the market up weekly for our meat, egg and cheese purchases. Now, I just need to find a produce solution. I happened to grab a copy of Edible Dallas & Fort Worth while I was there, and lo and behold there is a whole article dedicated to CSAs and Co-ops (pg. 25, Winter 2009). Squeezepenny is highlighted, and was also recommended by a reader, so I think I’m going to start there.
So that’s where we stand as of now with our commitment to changing how we eat. What about you? Have you done anything? I have to say I am so excited and inspired to be hearing from so many of you about the changes you have been making and are starting to make. Thank you so much for sharing with me!
Kendall is about a week shy of 21 months old.
As if you couldn’t tell from pictures, he relishes meal time, and while his love for the boob still remains, he’s slowly growing accustomed to the joys of solid foods that are not produced by my super calorie burning mammary glands (seriously, I will be in the market for a personal trainer and gym membership when this kid weans, which is almost enough incentive to be one of *those* moms that breastfeeds her 8 year old… almost).
So I’m sure you all can gather that being nearly seven months old for his first Thanksgiving was PERFECT timing. Not only had he been practicing eating solids for a good three weeks, but he also had 4 teeth to help with the gnashing. (As I type this he has 5 and is working on his 6th…Oh Lord, will there ever be a break from this teething nightmare?!) And he can thank his grandparents for feeding him the “good stuff”, like cinnamon rolls and bacon, and convincing me to leave behind my so very thoughtfully planned out all organic and homemade baby food diet for him, at least for the week we were visiting. That’s right folks… I said HOMEMADE baby food! I am SO that mom that I swore I would never be. From a post dated July 21, 2007
Prior to the Rabies, I always associated slings with hippie parents – not that that’s a bad thing. I just always thought you had to be the type of mom who made her own organic baby food from the organic vegetables she grew in her own garden to wear one, and I have no time or desire for that shit. However, I found some adorable Hotslings in very stylish patterns, and I like the idea of baby as accessory (wonder how many people I pissed off with that statement).
Hahahahahahahahahaha!!! I have to admit, though, that the Moby with Kendall’s chubby head and arms peaking out did make quite the fashion statement. And it turns out I do have the time and desire to make my own baby food. It’s ridiculously easy to do and it is so much cheaper than those jars. I’ve found wholesomebabyfood.com to be an excellent resource and I’ve picked up a lot of great tips from the book The Super Baby Food Diet (Although I don’t know that it warrants buying it full price. I found mine for $3 at our consignment store.)
We started out with simple mashed avocado and some breastmilk, or baby guacamole, and then advanced to smashed bananas, pureed sweet potatoes, peas, applesauce, carrots, and pears, and we’ve been adding Earth’s Best oatmeal cereal and plain organic yogurt on occasion. The guac and bananas are the easiest since there is no real prep. involved. Just remove from the peel and smoosh. Now that he’s okay with the thicker consistency I don’t even bother diluting it with breastmilk. I may add just the tiniest bit of water if need be.
My method of making the food is to steam the veggies, then puree in the food processor, fill ice cube trays, freeze over night, then store on freezer bags. I defrost a couple cubes at a time when I need them. Easy peasy.
Why, you may ask, did we wait until six months? Mainly, it boiled down to these reasons:
1. I dealt with a colicky baby for the first 10-12 weeks of his life and was happy with the peace that came with the digestive tract truce thereafter. I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to go screwing around with his gut.
2. Breastmilk did the boy good. He was in the 92nd percentile for weight at his 6 month appointment and never had so much as a spoonful of cereal.
3. Breastfeeding was working for him and me. It was easy. Why rush the mess and hassle of purees and spoons and bibs and dishes when you don’t need to? Not to mention the poop!
4. Seriously. The poop. Breastmilk poops are damn near close to pleasant. Nary a smell to them, very easy to clean up, wash right off the old diapers. Now that we are onto solids, I have a lovely transition period known as peanutbutter poop to look forward to. Nothing a little flushable liner won’t fix, but still, not nearly as delightful as curdled breastmilk poops.
(Note for cloth diaper followers – this really hasn’t been that bad to deal with. I mean, okay, it’s a little gross sometimes, but I deal. It’s a short phase. We put a flushable liner in each diaper. He only poops like once every other day, so if it’s not soiled with poop, we just throw it in with the wash. You can reuse a liner a couple times. When he does poop, I can just peel the liner off and flush it and the peanutbutter poop right down the toilet. Supposedly, this gets better once the poop gets more solid. Then it just rolls right off the diaper into the toilet, no liner required. At least, this is what I hear.)
Now, I so wish I could sit here and tell all of you that starting solids was the magical thing that made my baby sleep through the night. I mean, that’s what everyone tells you from the beginning, isn’t it? “Oh, he’s not sleeping through the night yet? He needs cereal. Feed him solids and he’ll sleep for you.” Really? REALLY?!!! LIARS LIARS PANTS. ON. FIRE. Not ONLY is he not sleeping through the night (yeah… that last post… that one where he slept for 7 hours… total, utter, complete fluke, nature’s way of screwing with my head, punishing me for God knows what, never happened again), but he has gone from waking 2 times a night to every 2 to 3 hours! Who knows why. Could be the sixth tooth he’s working on. Could be a growth spurt. Could be some sort of rebellion or clingyness. I don’t freaking know because, once again, I can’t find the damn Baby Manual that SURELY must have shot out of my vagina sometime between the baby and the placenta.
Kendall is 7 months old… and awake… again
**Warning! If you are currently in the bowels of morning sickness hell, please proceed with caution.
I’ve been wanting to blog these stories for weeks now, but due to the nature of what I wanted to type, and therefore had to give much thought to, I had to hold out until food, the alien baby, and I called a truce. It’s been a rough few weeks, and the battle has been long and incessant, inducing many a dry heave and countless belches….belches from the bottom of my toes that teenage boys would lust over…belches that have erased any ounce of my feminine mystique in my husband’s eyes. I am no longer the relatively polite priss he fell in love with. I can belch on command, and am not about to hold it in…even if that means we just finished dinner at a fancy restaurant. In fact, I usually follow up this end of dinner belch with unzipping my pants as far as I can while sitting at the table. Sometimes I remember to strategically place my napkin over my open fly…sometimes I don’t. It is almost a guarantee that IF I have pants on after 6 that do not have an elastic waist while hanging out at home, I will be walking around with them completely unbuttoned and unzipped, folded underneath my college freshman beergut.
The belching is still here, not as bad, but that just means it’s only every 5 minutes versus every 2 minutes. I guess I’m lucky though because I’ve only really puked once (stay tuned for that story further in this post). Apparently, morning sickness for some women is just belching, and I guess I’m one of them. However, I have to say it took me a few weeks of running to the bathroom every time I belched to realize that most likely nothing was coming back up. But enough about belching….let’s talk about food.
I was fully prepared for all kinds of morning sickness before I ever got pregnant. I was mentally preparing myself to puke like a seasick puppy. What I was NOT expecting was my complete disgust for any and all food! Ahh…food aversions. For a good two to three weeks almost all I did was munch on crackers and sip water and choke down the occasional ginger ale. My husband would try and try to suggest good food for me to eat. Bless his heart, he wanted me to eat HEALTHY food! He was worried the baby wasn’t getting enough leafy greens and protein. HA! He’s lucky that baby got any nourishment at all!
Now, everyday there would always be an hour or two when the clouds of food aversion would part and, BAM, it would hit me….the only thing in the entire WORLD that sounded good enough to eat…and I had to have it NOW. God only knows how long it would sound good for. It made for a desperate situation nearly every day. The worst part is, most of the time this would happen between 10 p.m. and 4 a.m. Folks, I do not live in the city that never sleeps. Most places close their doors promptly at nine around here…except for the all night grocery store. However, the problem with that was even if it sounded good enough to eat, it did not sound good to make. Having to prepare the food completely negated my desire to eat it.
One of these desperate situations happened when I suddenly got the urge to scarf down a baked potato with cheese, butter and a little sour cream. Where could I get such a delightful meal in a hurry at 10 p.m.?? Wendy’s!! I jumped in the car and raced over. I even got brave enough to order a Frosty while I was there. I was so ready to tear into this culinary delight when I got home that I barely made it to the kitchen before I pulled it out of the bag and audibly gasped when I saw that they had ruined my dinner by pouring their runny nacho cheese all over it!!! NOOOOOOOO!! I wanted sprinkly cheddar cheese! Who the hell puts nacho cheese on a baked potato? I swear, I had one months ago that had sprinkly cheese on it. To make matters worse, my Frosty was the consistency of icy chocolate milk…there was nothing “frosty” about it, and it only had to survive a 10 minute drive home. This sent me into a mini-meltdown. I was crying over Wendy’s…and I was still hungry. My husband was baffled, speechless, and trying not to laugh his ass off at me. The happy ending to this story is my husband driving me back across town to the late night diner, after wiping my tears and coming to grip with reality, to pick up an order of loaded mashed potatoes, smothered in butter, cheese and bacon bits. It was no baked potato, but it would do.
The only other story that I will share in this post that is turning out to be much longer than I intended is my McDonald’s story because I feel it is a much needed Public Service Announcement for all pregnant and soon to be pregnant women.
One day, after a three day battle with food that left me lightheaded and sick of the sight of the saltine box, I became incredibly hungry for a McDonald’s cheeseburger. Generally, I don’t even like McDonald’s (well, except for the fries), but on this day it sounded like gourmet fare. And since I had hardly eaten anything for days, I was more than happy to indulge this craving. I left for McDonald’s with the intention of only getting the cheeseburger, but upon arriving, I decided I should get some fries and chicken nuggets while I was there, too, since they also sounded yummy. The plan was to take all three home, taste each and see what I wanted the most then pass the rest off to my husband and dogs.
Flash forward to ten minutes after I got home…everything was in my belly. I demolished a McNuggets Meal and an extra cheeseburger like I was in an eating competition. As soon as I polished off that last fry and stood up, I knew it was going to be a long night. The belching came quickly since I had also guzzled the whole soda and progressed into dry heaves. I knew it. THIS was going to lead to throwing up. My belly was so full that I felt like Templeton, the rat from Charlotte’s Web, after over indulging at the fair. The puking came at the end of a HUGE belch/dry heave, and while I hated puking at all, I was disappointed there wasn’t more.
I ended the evening sitting in front of the toilet, chugging water and shoving my hand down my throat in intervals, trying to get the rest of it back up. My efforts only produced an extremely full bladder, a bad taste in my mouth, and the realization that that toilet will never be clean enough. Lesson to be learned – NEVER binge eat fast food while pregnant if all you’ve managed to choke down for days is a package of crackers.
For the time being, it seems that the alien baby is allowing food and I to rediscover our love for each other. But every now and then, the baby will remind me who’s boss and I will be completely disgusted by a certain smell or sight of different foods. At this point, though, I’m happy to say I’m craving more than I’m disgusted by.
(9 weeks 5 days pregnant)
Dear alien baby,
I don’t know what kind of food you eat on the planet you came from, but obviously we don’t have it here on earth. The sooner you can start to like the food I’m trying to feed you, the better we will all get along. And that doesn’t mean deciding you want pot roast at 2 in the morning. Nobody sells pot roast around here at 2 a.m.!! I will kindly oblige your pot roast request if you will do me the courtesy of submitting it to me prior to 7 pm EST.
I would also greatly appreciate it if you could quit being such a stubborn little butt-head anytime I try to feed you something other than a cracker. You should really open your mind to new food experiences. I loved fruits and vegetables, and chocolate, and chips and salsa before you came along. Just because you are cuisine challenged doesn’t mean I should have to suffer the same fate. A woman can only live off of crackers and water for so long….especially when she’s supposed to be growing another human being! I do believe if this continues, you are going to be born whiter than even me and sprinkled with salt.
Finally, quit being so fickle! You wanted McDonald’s…I gave you McDonald’s….you made me throw up McDonald’s. I don’t even LIKE McDonald’s you little shithead!! I ate it for YOU. Gah….quit being so ungrateful.
I went to the lab to have my blood drawn the other day. You know, where they drain half your bodily fluids in one sitting to test you for everything under the sun (don’t forget to eat something before that appointment). I made the mistake of bringing my husband along with me. He had the day off and we were running other errands, so I just thought we’d swing by together. Big mistake. I’ve already established that my husband is an obsessive compulsive germaphobe with borderline paranoia (and I say that in the most loving way, because I really do love him for all these little quirks…they are just trying at times).
He can’t help it. It’s not only in his nature to check EVERY CAN of tuna, soup, etc. 20,000 times before buying it/eating it/letting me eat it, it’s also his job. He works for a government health organization, and let’s just say, he knows more about food, diseases, germs than anyone needs to know. I mean, I believe that there is such a thing as not exposing yourself to enough germs and being a little too cautious…but alas, I will probably die from botchulism poisoning because of my carefree attitude toward food safety. Funny thing is, my husband will probably already be sent to an early grave from the stress induced by my bad habits….eh, I digress.
So this lab isn’t making a good impression on either of us from the start. It smelled, well, not sterile, but more like sick people. And it wasn’t cold enough. It felt like the perfect temperature for bacteria growth. Even I didn’t want to touch the magazines. When I was called back I told my husband to wait for me up front, but he insisted on coming. I was hesitant because I could see the wheels turning in his head. The paranoia was bubbling to the surface. When I gave him a look like, “you better not do anything dumb,” he responded with, “What?! I just want to be with you for this, is that okay?” Well, what wife can say no to that?
I had to skip to the loo to give my urine sample, and as I walked back into the room, sure enough, I found my husband accosting my lab tech with a string of RIDICULOUS questions. Primarily, he wanted to inspect the needle before she stuck me with it! Well, he actually made the mistake of calling it a syringe, to which our barely English speaking tech with a thick what I can only believe to be Russian accent replied, “Excuuuuuse Me?! Dees ees not da stone age, sur. We do not use dee syringe, sur. Eeet ees all very clean.” Well, this just pissed him off. “Oh, okay….excuse me. Can you just show me whatever you are about to stick in my wife’s arm. I just want to make sure it’s sterile!” Meanwhile, I’m already strapped to the chair, where I can clearly make out that all the needles are coming out of obviously sterile packages. I looked him dead in the eye and said. “Shut the fuck up. I’m going to make you leave this room if you do not stop.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know this place wasn’t the epitome of cleanliness in the waiting room, but the room we were in for the tests was absolutely fine, and I wasn’t too keen on him harassing the woman who was about to jam me in the arm with a needle, especially when I have the good sense to tell when I should and shouldn’t question my own lab tech without his help. The look she gave me when she turned around from arguing with him to finally draw my blood was like, “WTF?! You’re in for a long nine months, lady.” I could only hang my head and think, “I know…I know.”
I know this is only him controlling what he can, and I feel so blessed to have a husband who wants to be so involved in the whole process, but ladies, let me tell you, I’m afraid there will come a time when I will need to drug him so that I can keep my sanity. Is there anything out there that will induce a deep sleep for 8 months?
And I will end this by saying we laughed about it the whole way home, and we will never return to that particular lab again.