For the most part, my pregnancy has been a pleasant experience. While digging around some old stuff I’d typed up, I came across this little rant and since it made me smile, I thought I’d share it with you. This is from Week 14.

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Around 7:30 last night, an earth-shattering craving struck me. Not for pickles, which rest conveniently in my fridge, nor saltines, which I wisely keep near my desk; not even for the grapes and oranges in my fruit bin, nor the Pop-Tarts snuggled into a dark corner of a cabinet.

Not for those, but for Cheetos. Nasty, neon-orange, CRUNCHY SALTY NOMNOMNOM Cheetos.

I begged my husband to get me some, but he was playing Diablo2, which means he was completely oblivious to my pleas, as there were monsters that needed to be struck down. Clearly I have been too pleasant of a pregnant woman, because I feel like he should have feared the wrath of God smiting him when his wife falls at his feet, rests her head on his knee, and cries about needing Cheetos (no, I am not too proud to beg). I will say that he dug $1.52 out of his pocket, gave it to me, and said, “Then go buy some, hun.”

This, unfortunately, meant I needed to get dressed, which is a trial when all the sudden none of your pants will button at the waist yet you’re hardly showing except for the constant thrill of OH MY GOD MY UTERUS IS GROWING that makes you stand in front of the mirror at least three times a day to see if it’s poking out any further (note: last week, when I pulled my belly chub up, there was a slight curve; now, when I don’t pull it up, there is a pronounced one; this is a source of constant joy, as are my massive, beautiful, and SO FKING TENDER IT HURTS boobies).

Anyhow, I got dressed and went to the store. Cheetos were on sale — for $2.49, goddammit — and so I agonized over which bag of 88 cent potato chips I would buy (sour cream and onion means my husband may steal from me, salt and vinegar means I may end up with a numb tongue, bbq means no numb tongue and no stealing but also no satisfaction). I settled for s&v, which were opened as soon as I arrived home and plopped down on the couch to watch So You Think You Can Dance, which is one of my favourite shows right now (I can’t help it). And then the chihuahua army came; between yelling at them to get away and listening to my husband roast monsters, I had to turn the TV up louder than I like. And then I commenced eating.

Now, at this point, let me just mention that other than a few delicious bags of Gardetto’s that got in my way while I was in the US, and a drunken handful or two of Cheetos at a friend’s birthday party, I have (happily) abstained from the “potato chip aisle” category of junk food for approximately eight months. But this was a craving that refused to be ignored (unlike yesterday’s craving for banana bread which conveniently disappeared when the sky opened up and decided to piss on our town).

At some point between dances, I looked down at the bag and realized I had consumed half of its contents. It also struck me that baby is not yet satisfied with the amount my body had taken in, and so I kept eating. Then I looked down again and thought, you know, not only is this unhealthy and disgusting and utterly AMERICAN of me to be shovelling potato chips down my gullet while watching competition-based reality TV, but maybe I’ll want some tomorrow with an egg salad sandwich and a pickle for lunch, so I should stop.

Thank God I didn’t eat any more. Thank. God. Because half an hour later I felt so sick it was like someone had taken my intestines, tied them in knots, and let their chihuahuas fight over them. I couldn’t sit up. Watching TV became an exercise in patience, waiting for the commercials so I could race to the washroom. All I have to say is this:

MOMMY’S BELLY DOES NOT LIKE POTATO CHIPS and I will not be fooled into this manipulation again. If baby wants vinegar, I’ll eat a pickle. If baby wants salt, I’ll eat saltines. If baby wants something crispy and salty, I’ll eat homemade hash browns, or maybe I’ll get really saucy and just have a granola bar instead (how do you like THAT?) Or maybe I’ll buy sunflower seeds.

What I will NOT do, though, is consume any more potato chips, nor will I fall for the “I want Cheetos” craving. Because I am an unhappy mommy that just wants to go snuggle with daddy, but is too bloated and keeps burping up a disturbing vinegary potato taste to possibly be a good sleeping companion.