kiwords

The other day I did an amazing thing. I walked by a perennially cluttered counter, noticed a roll of ribbon that was sitting there and I (are you ready for this?) TOOK IT DOWNSTAIRS. And put it in the drawer where it belongs. This may not SOUND amazing to you, but the fact is that the ribbon has been sitting there since Max's birthday.

In August.

So for two months I've been walking past that stupid ribbon, shuffling past it in a hollow-eyed stupor, wishing I were asleep and that food would die. But last week I passed a magical 16-weeks-pregnant line, and the cloud of misery and nausea was gently blown away by a benevolent wind. And lo, life was good again.

Now, at 17 weeks, I find myself able to do all sorts of things - not only tote ribbon downstairs, but carry on conversations, think thoughts all the way through near to their end, go an entire day without a nap, and even (glory be) eat food. Clay gets up in the mornings and fries himself two eggs and when he comes back into the bedroom on a fried-egg scented breeze, I don't even wish for death. Instead, I think, hmm eggs. That smells good.

But there is a dark side to the return of Eaty Kira, because the return of the appetite does not necessarily mean that good sense and reason came with it, as evidenced by the following conversation that I just had with my long-suffering husband.

"Uh oh." I just let it hang there in the air, begging a response, even though he KNEW what was coming next. Poor man. He is simply compelled to walk right into it.

"What's wrong?"

"I want something." To his credit, if this caused him to sigh heavily, he did so unobtrusively.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know." Pause. "What would taste good with cream cheese?"

"Um...a bagel?"

"THAT WE HAVE?"

"Oh. Sorry."

Long pause.

"Banana bread. Cream cheese on banana bread."

"I just had some banana bread. With butter."

"This is SO not about you."

Lather, rinse, repeat. Seven thousand times a day. I want SOMETHING, and I'm not happy because I don't have it, but I'm not sure what it is. And my very lucky husband gets to hear me try to figure it out. All. The. Time.

For the record, toasted banana bread worked as a cream cheese delivery system, but a butter knife was even better.