I think i'm a troubled woman.
Or at the least, a spoiled one.
And it's all the baby's and my husband's fault.
It's heading towards midnight and i just polished off an egg in the nest, fried to perfection with crispy, buttery edges, egg whites firm and just a bit of gooey lusciousness in the egg yolk.
I call that troubled. But really, is it my fault? A woman with child does get such strange cravings at odd times.
Take, for instance, sunday mornings at church. You would never dream that the missionary lady with the spiritual face and expanding waistline is actually not hearing what the persons behind the pulpit is saying. Instead of reverently searching her heart, she is dreaming of Big Mac's, dripping with sauce and oozing with cheese. She is lifting crispy, salty fries to her mouth and sipping on ice cold coke's from a soda fountain.
I never did get the whole "hungry for a pickle" thing when pregnant. Why a pickle when you can have something that makes you fat?
So tonight as i was laying in bed and dreaming of an egg in the nest, (or hole or whatever you call it) i happen to mention to Marlin about how i was debating going to the kitchen and frying me up one and what do you know but he disappears "to get a shower" and shows up 10 minutes later with a perfectly fried, buttery delight. Buttery because HE never cooks as if a mission board is peering over his shoulder to check on how much butter he's actually using. That's why his food is good and mine mediocre. I can never quite shake the guilt that someone might actually find out we use butter instead of margarine, in spite of me trying faithfully to convince the little ones in the family that toast with Blue Bland is quite delightful.
But really, it's quite disgusting how my self control flees when a new Weaver takes up residence inside myself. I crave mashed potatoes. I eat mashed potatoes. I crave batter fried fish. I eat likewise. Black currant ice cream? Bring it on. (and just in case the mission board reads this, my father paid for the ice cream, bless his heart)
The list goes on as does my girth. Eventually i'll go back to the lifestyle of no white bread and mashed potatoes but for now, it makes me happy, and we all know if mama ain't happy ain't nobody happy.
And for the record, the mission board is really quite gracious regarding food, and naturally that extends itself to pregnant, spineless ladies. I really do try and watch our butter consumption but sometimes you just need a buttery fried egg in the nest in the late night hours.