This happened a few weeks ago now and I finally feel ready to laugh about it. It was the night of the sleepover I posted about, when Leah spent the night at my mom’s house. Dave and I had a gift card to a nice Italian restaurant, and so we went out for a date night.
Perusing the menu, everything sounded delicious, and I was having option anxiety. Dave, on the other hand, chose his go-to Italian favorite, chicken parm. I also love chicken parm, but I was eyeing other things and decided to be adventurous and order something I couldn’t pronounce- gnocchi. I had no idea what it was.
That was a mistake. This was back when I was still pretty sick all the time, too. The pasta had a weird, thick sort of texture. It tasted okay, and I was able to eat a small amount along with all the of the chicken that was in it. But, the following day I was not too keen on eating the leftovers for lunch. In fact, I could not even stomach the thought of it.
I watched Dave’s leftover chicken parm going round and round in the microwave and my mouth watered. I opened cabinets. I closed cabinets. I opened the fridge. I closed the fridge. There was nothing in either place that looked appetizing to me. When the microwave beeped, Dave came in and got out a plate for his meal. I looked at that chicken parm- and I burst out crying. I tried to turn away so that Dave would not witness such ridiculousness, but he noticed.
He put the plate in front of me.
“No,” I told him. “I can’t eat your lunch.”
“Hun, you’re crying!” he laughed. “It’s JUST chicken.”
And with that, I burst out laughing. And then ate his leftover deliciousness. Oh, pregnancy hormones. You strike at the oddest times.