Otherwise known as Pregnant Woman's Rage Day. Letting you in on my crazy.
This post is dedicated to Chris and to my two brothers-in-law, David and Brad. I lift a toasted sandwich to you three.
On June 12, 2011, I was enjoying a splendid day to myself. It was the day after my birthday which was low key and too good to be true: dinner involving plantains, brunch with my husband at a local place, coming home to an apartment decorated with streamers by probably seven or so twenty-two year old guys who had spent the night in our apartment, relaxing with just Chris and mac and cheese. Chris, David and Brad had left after Mass to go paintballing, and I got to spend my day basking at home in a halo of no Halo. We had decided to share the news that day that we were expecting a nine month late arrival of our honeymoon memento because the secret kept becoming known news each day we were around alcohol combined with friends who knew the state of my womb and friends who didn't. "I'll drink for you, Katrina!" had almost become our official announcement wording.
I got to spend the day finally talking to friends and family about the baby in my belly, which was exciting, of course. I had eaten so much that weekend that I decided to maybe hold off on the snacks that I normally shoved in my mouth without a second thought when I stayed at home and wait for dinner since I wasn't really hungry. I am almost never successful when withholding snacks, but on June 12, 2011, I was.
Chris texted me late that afternoon that he and the boys were going to stop at Potbelly's for dinner and what my sandwich order was. You know how I feel about Potbelly's. Hallelujah, my no snacking resolve had paid off. I texted back, "Big, thin-cut chicken salad on wheat with hot peppers, lettuce and tomato," and I probably included ten exclamation points. Then I sat in our green chair by the sliding door, continued watching Brothers & Sisters on the free Hulu trial, looked up Chicago OB-GYN's because there was no way I was delivering with a midwife and thought about that chicken salad sandwich every minute.
An hour passed and they still weren't home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I'm using that saying in reference to the sandwich. Finally, I heard the distinct beep! beep! of our car locking. The boys walked in bruised and painted (who cares) and carrying the Potbelly's bag (CARE!). The moment had arrived for this pregnant twenty-two year old.
"I can't wait for my chicken salad sandwich!" I literally pranced around our kitchen. (I was only eleven weeks so my feet were still capable of leaving the ground).
"Well, you're not going to be happy because Chris got you turkey." David answered.
I opened up the sandwich bag and unwrapped the paper. Turkey.
Pregnancy hormones sky rocket. Commence rage.
Chris didn't love me! He didn't care about me! He didn't know me! He was illiterate!!!
All of these statements flew out of my mouth that was craving that chicken salad sandwich. Brad had no idea what he had just witnessed. I grabbed the turkey sandwich and stomped all the way to our room. David came and opened the door to find me sitting on the floor, eating the sandwich, crying and whimpering, "I like turkey. I just wanted chicken salad."
The next day after the hormones had dropped to a semi-normal level and I had returned to my normal, love-all-food self, Brad and David came out of their room with a couple of backpacks and said they were going to go stay with our friends for a couple days.
And so that is the story of Chicken Salad Day. Cheers!