Mark and I have begun prenatal classes. And they are definitely more engaging than reading a baby or pregnancy book. I like that they involve discussion with other folks that are going through the same kinds of things. And that we can ask the nurse specific questions.
Last week, we discussed how to have a healthy pregnancy. Along those lines, the topic of nutrition came up. And I disclosed to Mark that getting the requisite number of servings of fruits and vegetables is my nutritional weakness. So, in a very loving way, ever since that day, he has been gently asking me every evening if I succeeded in getting between 5-10 servings of fruits or vegetables. Sometimes if I want a bowl of chips, he'll ask if I'd prefer to have a peach. Usually the answer is NO and I eat the chips anyway. But it is nice that he is showing care and concern. It also makes me feel a little bit guiltier than I'd like to feel. Sometimes I reflect on all those stories of the women who eat a kilo of ice cream every day of their pregnancy or who send their husbands out at 3am for pizza and pickles and I think that he is very, VERY lucky that I am only having a rice bowl-sized portion of chips as a snack after work. That's very tame indulgence, even for non-pregnant Melissa.
Two days ago, I was lying in bed, half-asleep after work, listening to Mark putter around the kitchen making korean beef and noodles. I could hear him grating carrots. Then he came upstairs and gently placed three carrot sticks gently into my snoring mouth and tip toed out.