As the young lovebirds sleep tranquilly under the brisk April sky, a piercing shreek is heard from the fair maiden. She is up like a bolt, very tense, and obviously in a bit of pain. The dashing knight quickly arrives (rolls over) at her side and is ready to assist (asks what's wrong). Knowing that she is eight months pregnant and having just watched part of Lord of the Rings only two thoughts come into the young man's mind. Either, Ringwraths have appeared and his wife is fraught with terror, or his beloved is having contractions and is ready to deliver child. Luckily for all, it was a calf cramp and so we went back to bed.
Okay so I embellished a little bit (not about the dashing knight bit of course). Every time Miriam yawns, winces, breaths funny, or does absolutely nothing that would indicate anything, I assume that she must be going into labor. And then, just before opening my mouth, I ask, "How are you doing?" Usually, the response is, "I'm fine." I know, however, one of these times I ask, she is going to say, "Baby is coming!" I will then whisk her off to the hospital where the doctor will be waiting (that's a long shot, has a doctor ever waited for someone?). Then after a short, period of time, I will get a snack from the snack room and Miriam will deliver our baby once I'm done. Or at least that is what I imagine.
One of my least favorite questions when asked about Miriam is if she ever has cravings. The reason why I disdain this question is because the answer is a resounding NO! I was looking forward to getting calls on the way home from work saying, "I want Chinese food," "I want pizza," "I want ice cream." Sadly, never. Well, once she said "I want Taco John's," and five minutes later, I produced a six pack and a pound and we ate it all.
One day, I decided to cook up some chicken and some pasta and mix Alfredo sauce with some tomatoes (which I had never done before) and make supper while Miriam was at work. Miriam took some of the left overs to work the next day and voila, Pregnancy Pasta was born! Pregnancy Pasta is only my second claim to victory in the field of cravings (after the six pack and a pound). Pregnancy Pasta has reached a new high point this weekend though. On Saturday, we added in Eggers and Schultz homemade Alfredo sauce to my concoction of delicacies to make what Southern Austrians might call Uberpregancy Pasta! Wowwza! Delish! Anyway, I'm thinking we started a new tradition here. Oh, and don't ask for the recipe, it is now a family secret locked away in a steel cage, which has bars that are inconveniently wide enough to let the place I put my keys slide right through.
Only three weeks till D-Day!
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