When your pregnant, cravings can be very dangerous; for not only yourself but for those around you. Heaven help the man who chooses not to aid a woman during one of her many pregnancy induced food cravings.
Last night, that poor man was my son Tyler. At about 7:30pm, I became overrun by a burning desire for a cheeseburger, a get outta my way; I’m in a hurry kind of desire. But I didn’t want one of McDonald’s wimpy, limp, small, pathetic burgers. No I need me a CHEESEBURGER. Why? Because some dumb idiot thought it’d be a GREAT idea to run a cheeseburger commercial during one of MY shows; A commercial that had all kinds of close-ups and panning of how hot and juicy it looked. With its melty cheese and crisp pickles and tomatoes. Stupid marketing ploys….
Unfortunately, Tyler was too caught up in his play-dough building to be bothered by his mother’s latest insanity. So he protested, and I tried rationalizing, “It will only take a minute, we’ll be right back”.
Then he stomped his foot, so I tried bargaining, “Want mommy to get you a happy meal toy?”
Then he just shook his head no, so I tried pleading, “But mommy is VERY hungry”.
When he shot back with a loud “NO!” I’d had enough.
I scooped him up in his pj’s, slung him under my arm, his slippers bobbing precariously on the end of his toes, threatening to slip off, grabbed my car keys on the way out and plopped him into the car seat.
I knew I’d regret eating anything this late. But I didn’t care. I was consumed.
I drummed my fingers on the dashboard impatiently as the guy in front of me dawdled and took his sweet time obeying the speed limit in our residential neighborhood. I fidgeted with my gear shift as I waited in the drive-thru line as the lady ahead of me leisurely pursued the menu. And nearly took a kids arm off at the drive-thru window as he handed me my sack and I stepped on the gas and hauled ass back to my house.
I savored every bite, even if they had screwed up my order and put onions on my cheeseburger. And just as I predicted, as I neared the end of my sandwich, I sorely regretted my decision.
In that, stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done kinda way. And at that moment I could have doubled as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon I was so bloated and full, but I didn’t care, I may have been miserable. But I was happy. At least, until the next out of control craving hit.
So all persons living in a 5 mile radius of my abode be on the lookout for a crazy-eyed, curly-haired pregnant woman in a house coat. And keep a wide berth.