Insane Pregnancy Moments

Don't let the title fool you, I'm not knocked up, and I don't plan to be in the next 3 years or so. My two crazy monkeys keep me busy enough!

No, my family and I were reminiscing tonight about when we were pregnant, and some of the silly things we did. My sister is 7 months pregnant and is a tiny bit emotional. When I say a tiny bit, I mean a tiny bit. She also reads this blog and I really don't want to tell you how emotional she is because I am afraid it might make her bawl hysterically, so we just won't go there, k? Love you sis!

As we were talking about how funny it is that we have cried over cheeseburgers, or threatened our husbands with divorce over a dirty sock left on the floor, I had to laugh at my best(worst) irrational pregnancy moment.

I think I was in the ninth month of my first pregnancy, very large and uncomfortable. I was spending my days napping, half-heartedly cleaning, talking to my sister for hours on the phone, napping again, and watching hours of terrible daytime TV. Then, ten minutes before The Hubs would be due home, I would scramble around throwing away the empty chip bags and candy wrappers. Yeah, it was a pretty sad sight. I still can't figure out why I gained sixty pounds in that pregnancy. Hmm...

One day I was sprawled on the couch watching Oprah, when the commercial break began (pre-TIVO days...how did we all survive???). And it hit me...I wanted muffins. I wanted muffins NOW. I jumped up (or rather..awkwardly twisted and turned my large body off of the couch) and waddled raced to the kitchen. I fumbled around in the cupboards, scrambled through drawers, and finally found what I so desperately needed. Two boxes of muffin mixes, one apple cinnamon, the other blueberry.

Now, the serious problems started. They both sounded equally delicious, but I knew I couldn't make them both. I also knew I needed to get them in the oven so I could have a fresh plate of hot muffins waiting for The Hubs when he got home. After spending an eternity changing and re changing my mind, I finally picked apple cinnamon and set to work whipping up a batch. The house was soon filled with the heavenly aroma of baked apples and sweet cinnamon. I sat cross legged on the floor watching the muffins sloooowwwlllly rise. The moment they were done I yanked them out of the oven and burned my hand slightly trying to get them out of the muffin pan and onto a plate. I was salivating, my eyes were glazed over, every bud on my tongue was screaming "I NEED A MUFFIN NOW!"

I can still feel the agony, the pain of having to wait five minutes for the muffins to cool. The first muffin was still steaming, but I couldn't wait. I think I went into a bit of trance, my memory is a little fuzzy, but one second I was delicately biting into a moist muffin, and the next second I was surrounded by a nearly empty pan and a large amount of crumbs.

I panicked and counted the last of the muffins. Four. Four? FOUR??? I ate 8 muffins in one sitting? Ok, this is not such a big deal, The Hubs will come home and enjoy the last four muffins, problem solved. But wait, he is going to see that there are only four muffins left, which means he will see that I ate eight of them.

If you have ever been pregnant, you might see where this led me. Obviously, I needed to either A) eat the last four muffins or B) throw the last four muffins away. This way The Hubs would never even know they existed, and therefore would not see that I was a total hog. The thought of throwing the four muffins away really pained me though, I just couldn't do it. So I ate them. The last few had to be nearly forced down, I was stuffed so full, but they were still soooo good.

Ok, great. The pan is washed and put away, the crumbs are swept up, everything is fine. I stepped outside to get some fresh air and walked back in to discover that baking smell I mentioned before? That wonderful sweet scent? Yeah, the house reeked of it. I could smell it from the door, it was very obvious someone had just baked something wonderful.

At this point I started crying. I just knew that The Hubs would walk in and say "Oh, you made muffins. Oh, they're gone. You ate twelve muffins. You ate TWELVE muffins?????" So I did what any irrational and emotional woman would do. I made the second batch.

And then I ate one out of that batch, just to make it look believable. Because I knew he would be suspicious if there was a fresh batch of muffins and I hadn't tried one yet.

When The Hubs came home, he gave me a quick kiss and headed for the muffin plate. I held my breath wondering if he would notice the scent of cinnamon that didn't match the blueberry muffins, or see a smudge of apple residue on my face. He grabbed a muffin, muttered "Thanks." then went to take a shower.

That night I cried myself to sleep. Partly because I was upset with DH for not praising me more for my muffin efforts, partly because I knew I was being silly. And partly because I was stuffed so full of muffins I thought I would explode.