This is only the beginning

Tuesday night at 7:30 I was hit by an intense need for Arby's potato cakes. Need, I tell you. I was working and my break wasn't until 8:15, so I considered pausing the calls and running upstairs to have Matt go out for them. The problem was that Howie was still awake. We've been trying to cut way down on our eating out since he started asking for a burger and fries everytime we got in the car. In a rare turn, an attempt at responsible parenting won out and I held off for the time. I didn't stop thinking about them, though. Or the mozzarella sticks. I couldn't decide which I wanted, so I decided to send Matt to the location still doing the pick 5 deal and he could get the other 3 of whatever he wanted.

I went up for my scheduled break and informed him of my plan. "Ugh," he balked. I was surprised that he wasn't jumping at the opportunity. He always suggests Arby's and I rarely consent. Apparently, the opportunity to eat it at 10 pm isn't as appealing. I decided that if he wasn't going to do the deal, then just get potato cakes. I was still torn over which one I really wanted, but went with the first impulse. I heard the garage door open at 9:30 and was practically dancing in my chair. He came down about half an hour later and I practically snatched the bag out of his hand. mmmmm, potato cakes.

but wait! There was the tell tale marinara sauce container and a second cardboard container. He got mozzarella sticks too! This was perfect. I finished the call I was on and dove into the bag. On closer inspection, I had a question for him. "Uh, why is there only one mozzarella stick in this bag?" A simple gesture of a single finger pointed to his chest told me. He bought them for himself and left me one. Noble, on the surface, but the ramifications were torturous. I gobbled it up first, not even waiting for the 10:15 break. It was delicious and I wanted more. When I ate the potato cakes, all I could think was that though they hit the spot in a sense, I wished they were mozzarella sticks.

Now don't get me wrong. I scarfed them down and enjoyed every bit, but the pregnant brain is a strange beast. Forget the other yummy food I was eating at that exact moment, I wanted more fried cheese. I wanted it right then. In a feat of self control, I refrained from sending him back out. He was already kind enough to go out once and I really didn't need more fried food, especially at that hour. Plus, I have 5 more months of late night food runs and irrational cravings. I didn't want to exhaust his goodwill or make him feel put out. He might not be so lucky in the future. I don't think a reprieve will come so easily at 8 months.