I made it to 12 weeks.  YAY for 3 months.  I’ve got a lot to laugh about today.  It’s Friday, my workload is tolerable and we’re one day closer to the end of the first trimester!  We had a pretty funny night last night.  And this is just an example of our funny exchanges– me and my irrational pregnant notions and Jeff and his hysterical comebacks…

Last night, I opted to make a healthy dinner since we’ve (translation: me) been eating total junk lately.  So, I made “Greek” chicken breasts- garlic/balsamic vinegar baked chicken- with rice and steamed asparagus.  It wasn’t an epicurean feast by any means, but it’s definitely one of our more healthier staple dinners in rotation.

When we sat down at our table trays, Jeff ran into the kitchen to grab something.  I asked him what he needed and if I could help.
“NOPE!  I’m good.” He yelled back.

When he didn’t come back a few minutes later, I heard a few things fall out of our refrigerator.  I got up, to peek into the kitchen to find my husband neck-deep in the fridge.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Oooooh nothing.” he answered in that sing-songy way, pulling a container out of the fridge in the most conspicuous way– as if he was concealing a top secret ingredient to his dinner.

I sat back down at my table and Jeff followed.  He instinctively put the secret container to the left of his plate, hoping that I’d forget that he was trying to conceal something.

As I started to cut my chicken, I could see the secret container in my peripheral vision.  I tried to ignore Jeff and the meticulous shaking of his container all over his dinner.  It could’ve been pounds of ranch dressing for all I knew.

After chewing and swallowing my first bite, I turned my head to comprehend what exactly was going on next to me.

“What are you doing?  Is dinner ok?
*Still shaking that damn container 5 minutes later…*
“OH.  I felt like cheese today.”  He would easily eat his shoe if it was covered in cheese.

stupid-cheese.jpg

In a very demonic Martha Stewart-y way, I asked him, “Well, you do know that this dinner was meant to be a healthy one, right?   And powdered, processed cheese isn’t an element that I intended on including.  It kind of hurts my feelings when you put things on your dinner when I’m trying to be healthy.”

He carefully put his cheese down and started to do that puppy dog frown thing he always does.
“Well I didn’t know!!  I was craving cheese.  so I thought cheese would be ok!”
I didn’t have a good comeback, realizing that my hormones were talking and that rational Jen was no longer in the building.

“I’m just thinking about your cholesterol.  I’m just trying to be health-conscious for the both of us.”

We continued eating our dinner, cheese-drenched chicken and all.  After we finished, Jeff cleaned up since I cooked.  He cleared the plates off of our tables, but left the container of cheese.

When he came back and grabbed the cheese to put in the fridge, he mumbled on the way to the kitchen, “STUPID CHEESE, getting me in trouble!!!  I don’t need any help getting in trouble.  I do that without any help!!!”

Without a pause, we laughed hysterically, hugged and acknowledged that the cheese spat was ridiculous, even though I did have a small point.
Oh the cheese.  That stupid, stupid cheese!

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