Grow me a fat one

by Katie on September 18, 2012


Recently, I experienced the first day where I was particularly hungry. All. Day. Long. Brandon was home for lunch that day, and worked in the office for awhile afterward. So, needless to say, I received quite the peppering of comments when, no more than an hour and a half after lunch, I made myself a full peanut butter and jelly sandwich to calm the growling coming from my belly.

Embarrassed, I tried to hide all this from Brandon, but he caught me red-handed in the kitchen. And, in true fashion, proceeded to give me a hard time. But when he’d had enough fun with that, he said the following:

“That’s okay. I don’t want a scrawny baby anyway. I want you to grow me a biiiiiig, FAT one.”

At this, my eyes grew wide, and I said, “Um, Dear, you realize what that means for me, right.”

“Yeah, you’ll get over it. I’m serious. I want a fat one.”

I reminded him that his genetics are the ones that bring lower birth weights to the table, but both of us had our fair share of baby rolls a few months down the road, so maybe things will work out in both our favor.


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