I’d like to say, first and foremost, that this pregnancy has not been all that bad. I mean, I’ve never been pregnant before, so it’s definitely been my worst – but it’s also been my best. I say this because I’ve realized lately that I mostly use my blog to vent or complain, while all the “good” days are the days I forget to turn on my computer. So, for the record, most days, I’m doing pretty well.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about cravings again. My cravings haven’t been that weird or that frequent – no pickles-and-ice-cream stories here – but when they come, they come fast and furious.
A few weeks ago, lying in bed, I cuddled up to Ethan and whispered in his ear, “I love you. I’m stickin’ around.” And then immediately added, “I want a taco.”
I didn’t get my taco, sadly. It was too late for decent taco places, and Ethan won’t let me eat Taco Bell until I’m safely past the might-thr0w-that-up stage. (Read: until I’ve already had the baby.)
Yesterday, I wanted potato soup. All day long, I tried to psyche myself out to make soup, but I just didn’t have the energy. When Ethan came home, he made a deal with me: if I helped him do the dishes, we’d go out to eat, and find someplace with soup. I rejoiced! And washed dishes. While washing, I thought of all the places that might serve potato soup. Applebee’s, Chili’s, Denny’s, maybe even Wendy’s. I came up with about a dozen places, which is rare for my current state of mind.
By the time the dishes were over, however, I was hungry and my brain had shut off. “Where do you want to go?”
I racked my brain. “Soup. I want soup.”
“Right. Where do you want to get it?”
I was confused. Why was he making me think of all those places again? “One of the places I already thought of.”
“So, which one?”
After a very difficult two minutes, I decided Applebee’s was the first in alphabetical order, so we should go there. “Applebee’s.”
Ethan looked hesitant. “Somewhere besides Applebee’s.”
What do you want from me?! “Okay, Chili’s.” The twin brother of Applebee’s.
“Do you know where a Chili’s is?”
I did when I had my brain on. “No.”
“Okay, neither do I. Think of a place you know.”
I tried not to cry. Why was he making me think? I eventually remembered Denny’s existed, and we started in that direction. While in the car, Ethan asked, “Do you know if there are any fast-food places that have soup? I don’t want to spend twenty dollars just to eat soup.”
In my mind-fog, I tried to remember what the words “fast food” meant, and what kind of places served it. Eventually, Ethan remembered that Noodles and Co. had soup on their menu, and it was only a dollar for a cup. We’d been to Noodles in Orem before, and they gave us the cheesiest macaroni and the most delicious soup we’d ever tasted, so this seemed like a splendid idea. As we walked in, I saw the menu, which had three kinds of soup: tomato, chicken noodle, and something Thai-inspired that sounded risky for a pregnant lady. Nothing potato. Nothing creamy. I looked at Ethan, trying to figure out how to explain. “I want… white soup,” was what came out.
Ethan sighed, and said, “Will this do?”
I thought, and slowly shook my head. We headed back to the car. “So where do you want to go?” Ethan asked. I fought back tears.
“Somewhere with potato soup!”
Neither of us could think of a place that regularly sold potato soup. Eventually, I gave up. “Let’s go back to Noodles and just eat something,” I said, sniffling a little bit.
Ethan looked concerned. “Are you going to cry over soup?”
“I hope not.”
We went and ordered some soup, a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and a salad. After a few minutes, a server brought Ethan his macaroni, which was topped with a small sprinkling of cheese, and tasted like somebody had put hot water on it instead of cheese sauce. We reminded the server that I had also ordered food, and she apologized, disappeared for a few minutes, and then returned bringing a side salad and the smallest cup of soup I’ve ever seen.
“How’s your soup?” Ethan asked.
“It’s okay,” I said, still pining for potatoes but grateful he was willing to put up with me. “How’s your macaroni?”
Ethan poked at the bowl. “Pretty disappointing,” he said. “And I paid a dollar extra for red peppers, and it looks like they only added a few slices.”
The salad was a decent size, but after a few bites, my stomach warned me that throwing up iceberg lettuce was a bitter experience, and I had to give up on it. We sat there, staring at out mediocre meal, out spirits dampened. Ethan wanted to say something to management, but it was busy enough in there that he didn’t see a way he was going to speak to anyone. “Are you still hungry?”
He looked stumped. “I don’t know how to help anymore,” he said. I told him not to worry about it. I had enough food in me to get over the potato soup for now. We walked out to the parking lot and decided to drown our sorrows in hot chocolate instead. So we stopped at CVS long enough to watch a college kid buying baobab fruit (which exists, apparently), and decided Macey’s would have a better selection of cocoa. Two and a half pounds of hot chocolate powder later, we sat on the couch and sipped hot goodness, feeling a little better about the evening.
I still want potato soup, but I don’t think I’m going to cry about it. ♦