Nacho, Nacho Man

The past few weeks, I have been intensly exhausted. I know, I know, I'm a broken record, but I have never experienced such weariness in my entire existence! I have to super glue my eye lids open to keep them from closing. I woke from my usual drool snooze only to find my cursed hunger for nachos. That's right, nachos! Strange and bizarre. I do recall stumbling into El Farlitos at two o'clock in the morning with smeared vision slurring something to the likes of, "super nachos por favor pronto por favor," but that was three years ago.

As I entered the kitchen, Shane's obsessive compulsive kicked in and jumped into third gear. He's whipped dishes out of the fridge like a mad scientist, "What is this? Is it pork chops? Are you going to cook it soon? Or can I cook it? What about this Italian sausage? Should I put it in the freezer? Are you cooking it? Can I cook it and eat it with the left over polenta? What is this green curry? What kind of green curry? Should I throw it in the trash? How old is it?" I could not endure the barrage of questions that he tossed in my direction. I quickly snapped, "I am not answering any questions until I have something to eat! So zip it!" This is just my "g" rated version of the story. More appropriately, imagine the scene in the exorcist where Regan's head slowly spins and she projectile vomits green pea soup all over the priest. That would be more accurate to the event.

Immediately, I was appalled at my rejection as well as the surprise appearance of my fifth personality "Regan". I felt terrible. Hideous. Yet, my appetite had the pedal to the metal on a one way highway to the city of Nachos hitting anything that gets in the way. I knew deep down that a few bites into my nachos this demon head would be gone and I would be left with a big whopping wax ball of apology that I would have to present to my lovely husband.

Shellie's Proverb: Without food, toilets would not be essential.

I quickly whisked together a béchamel and incorporated some cheddar cheese! Poured the beautiful sauce over my blue corn chips and black beans. Viola! After a few crunch bites my taste buds expired. My evil part had recessed into dormancy. I immediately felt like a rear end of a donkey. I quickly apologized to Shane who quickly brushed it off. He has been tipped by his friends that in pregnancy, there is no "right" the male counterpart can do. He made me promise that I would not be like the others. I must boast that I'm quite honored that my husband puts me above the average female. Sadly, I could not commit as I wasn't sure what was in store for me as I walk the plank of pregnancy. I was ready for anything like my teeth turning into fangs or better yet my back hunching into a deep unattractive curve. My mind was a clean slate. I wasn't sure of anything. I gave him my word that I would do my best to not be a complete freak, but here I was in my first trimester wigging out over chips and cheese. Oh, dear. The last thing that I would want is for my sweet heart to have to tip toe around my frenzy. Such cruelty.

As my hormones orchestrate this symphony, I am just an instrument in all of this. The music heightens to my hunger that surges like a tidal wave along with the loud crashes of my peculiar cravings. I will throw myself against the tide to keep my husband safe from the likes of me. My first step is to not press him for anything or everything. I will take sole responsibility of my needs and wants, hence my expectations will be minimal. So begins the first score to my ever changing repertoire.

Lesson: A grasshopper must learn to acclimate to his environment in order to become enlightened.