You ate the last cookie

At about 6 weeks in, I was unable to eat much of anything. There was some kind of stomach flu going around and I think I caught it. It’s was hard to tell the difference between that or just really bad morning sickness.

I went 24 hours with no food. I couldn’t eat anything.

4 days of little food, and as much water as I could hold to keep from dehydration. By day 5, I felt great and I wanted to eat everything in sight. EVERYTHING. Food and I became friends again.

Clint had come home with some chocolate chip cookies a few days before (The really soft kind. The really awesome kind).

I was never much a cookie eater before. I don’t (didn’t) eat a lot of processed foods. No Dorritos, cookies, or Hamburger Helper.

But today I saw the package of cookies and it became the most important food of all time. THE ONLY FOOD. I had to have a cookie. If I didn’t have a cookie, then the world was going to end right then and there. The fate of mankind depended on me eating this cookie.

And then I saw the empty package…

It was like I was possessed.  Possessed by some cookie eating demon with the ability to make my husband burst into flames by staring a hole into his body. I had no control over myself. I heard a growl that sounded like something out of a horror movie. I have never heard this voice before. I had no idea where it came from. I found myself looking around the room for the source. There was no in there except Clint, Small Dog, Big Dog, and myself.  Then I heard it again and I knew it had come from me.

“YOU ATE THE LAST COOKIE?”

My dear husband gulped “Well, there were only three left.”

Then the voice got higher pitched. That higher pitch we all get when we are mad. You know the one. It’s usually accompanied by “Fine” or “Whatever” or “I don’t care”. I knew I wasn’t being rational. I knew it and I had no control over it. It was like listening to a crazy person.  I even thought to myself “who is this person. She is freaking out over a damn cookie. She doesn’t even eat cookies.”

I flopped on the couch next him. Crossed my arms over my chest and actually huffed like a child being told “no”. 

The following conversation actually happened between two grown up, professional adults.

Clint: Are you ok?

Me: Oh I’m fine… Just wanted a cookie….. It’s not like I have been eating for the last four days. It’s not like I wanted all of them. Just one. Just one cookie. That’s all I wanted. One…………….

Clint: Are… Are you upset?

Me (getting louder, getting higher pitched): Why would you think I would be upset over a cookie? It’s not like I’m starving or anything. It’s not like I’m growing a person. You ate the last three cookies. I only wanted one. ONE COOKIE!

Clint: Dear… I don’t think…. You shouldn’t be upset over a cookie. We can-

Me (getting louder and higher pitched): YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW HOW I SOUND? DO YOU THINK I LIKE FREAKING OUT OVER A COOKIE? DOES THIS SOUNDS NORMAL TO YOU? DO NORMAL PEOPLE BECOME POSSESED BY DEMONS SEEKING COOKIES? I KNOW HOW CRAZY I SOUND. I DON’T NEED YOU TO POINT THIS OUT TO ME. I NEED YOU TO GIVE ME A GOD DAMN COOKIE!

The dogs are watching me now. Big Dog is hiding. Small Dog has his head cocked to one side.

Clint: I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we go to the store together and get some more cookies? We can pick up a few other things and then you can pick out whatever cookies you want. How does that sound?

Me (at a much more normal octave and volume): Oh… ok. I guess we can do that. I really appreciate your willingness to compromise. I… I don’t know what came over me.

Clint: Well that’s ok. I can understand you must be frustrated.

Me: I have never felt this out of control before. It’s so weird. I’m really trying. You’re being so nice to me and I’m being so mean….. I think I’m gonna cry….. (sniffle).

Clint: Oh Baby. Do you need a hug?

Me: NO! Don’t hug me or I’ll cry (sniffle, sniffle) and get snot all over you.

Clint: It’s ok. My shoulders are made of Kleenex.

Me (totally sobbing now): I’m so sorry! This sucks! I just…. I can’t…. I can’t even talk. My brain is mush….. I love you!..... I’m so sorry I’m such a jerk. I don’t mean to be an asshole. I can’t help it (more sobbing).  I can’t believe I’m such an asshole.

Clint: You’re not an asshole dear. You are pregnant. It’s ok. Really. If yelling over a cookie is the worst we deal with than I say that’s pretty darn good.

Me (still sobbing): I’m an asssssshooooooooole!!!!!!

5 minutes later the sobbing began to subside and I stopped calling myself names. We went to the store and picked out 3 types of cookies, frozen pizza and smart water (had to have something without preservatives).

I’m eleven weeks today. I haven’t eaten a single cookie.

People often ask us how the pregnancy is progressing. We both joke that things are going really well except for when he “ate the last cookie.” Not a single person that has had children, male or female, has questioned the logic of this response. Women nod silently in understanding and all men gasp in shock like we just said Home Depot filed for bankruptcy.