Dinner in Bed

Yesterday we had a late lunch out, followed by blizzards from dairy queen, so although we fed the kids dinner Brian and I were too full to eat. Funny thing about pregnancy, though, is that you can go from stuffed to starving in 2 seconds flat. We laid down for bed sometime after 9:00, and after chatting awhile I told Brian he would need to go out and get me a taco. The sweet man actually said he would (I wasn't counting on that), and I told him (in great detail) how he could just make me a few nachos and bring them to me in bed I would be fine.

Background: when I was pregnant with Bernard I was having a particularly strong craving for tacos (notice a theme here?) and asked my beloved to run out and get me some. We lived in south city, less than a block from a Mexican joint, and it was probably around 8 o'clock in the evening, so this request was not an extremely difficult one to fill. Brian, being the practical soul he is, said that "I would be fine without the tacos", and refused to to go out. I was crushed, because part of the joy of pregnancy (or so I thought) was that the husband was under obligation to fulfill his wife's cravings.

Obviously, my man has softened a bit in this area, and for that I am grateful. He came back to bed with a huge plate made exactly to my specifications. I told him that there were way too many and he said that they looked good so he made some extra for himself. Mommy and baby (and daddy, too) went to bed with happy tummy's.