Last night, after eating a delicious dinner (if I don’t say so myself) of Lemon Baked Pasta, The Husband and I rolled ourselves into bed almost as soon as our guests left.  As The Husband laid whining about how he had a stomach ache, and I laid whining about how I don’t think I got enough to eat, The Husband decides it’s the perfect time to mention to me that I’m about to enter the Great Weight Gain Stage of pregnancy.

As he rolled over and began gently snoring, I stared up at the ceiling, wide awake, trying to ward off the panic and keep visions of sausage fingers and fat face out of my head.  And then I felt my little guy, soothingly somersaulting around inside my belly and it was almost as if he was saying, “Dude, don’t even worry about this.  I will eat my fair share of what you eat and we will do our best to ward off fat face!”

******

Clearly, all panic was forgotten this morning when I woke up, had an overflowing bowl of Kix, and a couple hours later stuffed my face with two egg tacos (scrambled eggs with salt, pepper, oregano and parmesan cheese, wrapped in a corn tortilla and topped with honey and two slices of fried salami — AMAZING!).  Even after two breakfasts, I’m still thinking about what I’ll be having for my next meal.

I’m obviously banking on the little guy holding up his end of the deal I’m assuming we made last night.