Week 15 – we’re officially into the second trimester now. God knows, it’s about fucking time.
Not only does this mean that my name is finally published in the “about” section on this blog, but it also signifies an end to Wifey’s incessant napping. What’s replaced it, however, is the single-minded pursuit of one simple thing: food. (Ok, maybe two simple things, with a close runner-up being a bathroom to pee in.)
Last week, as I witnessed a total pre-dinner meltdown, it occurred to me that the level of irrationality in play here is enough to hearken me back to my college days. After all, that’s the one other time in life when it somehow seemed appropriate to stumble around in one’s pajamas, attempting to satisfy totally random munchie cravings.
To take this this line of thought one step further, I’ve put together the following visual aid:
Now I’m not suggesting that my baby momma is smoking pot over here – although we do live in California; the truth is she won’t even go near a glass of wine. (Apparently all she can discern is the smell of alcohol, which the little guy is not [yet] a fan of.) You truly never know what this woman is going to eat next.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, early on in her first trimester my beloved partner suddenly stopped eating meat all together – I mean seriously, not even bacon. Then, last week, at brunch with my family during our recent visit to New York City, she went ahead and ordered a cheeseburger. You should have seen the shock on my face, and the look the waitress gave as I exclaimed:
“What the fuck? You’re having a cheeseburger?!?”
I realize that if you don’t know us and our dynamic, this is exactly the kind of statement that is prone to easy misinterpretation. Rather than expressing concern for my wife’s diet, however, this was just a declaration of surprise (read: utter shock). As a wine professional I’ve dedicated a decade to learning the individual tastes of my clients – as well as friends and family – yet my own wife stumps me every time.
In response to my frustation, she’s got one simple response: “I’m going to keep you on your toes for the rest of your life, honey. You might as well stop trying to figure me out now.”