I should preface this post by saying that I really hate Valentine’s Day.  I think is the most contrived holiday, which perhaps has some nice origins, but now has simply given way to a day on which people who don’t have a significant other feel like losers, people who DO have a significant other have unrealistic expectations, and little kids are forced to give stupid commercial cut-outs with, like, Hannah Montana on them or something, to every. single. person. in their class, and I have no doubt that there have been many the “forgotten” (either intentional or otherwise) little kids that are then crushed for life.* So call me the Valentine’s day scrooge, but I think it’s stupid.  So there.

Anyway, now I’m married and perhaps I should like Valentine’s day, because I have this built-in-always-friend around when I want to celebrate it, but I was fortunate to marry someone who felt equally negatively (although perhaps not quite as emphatic) about the stupid holiday so we really don’t celebrate it very much.

Enter our mutual gift to each other:  chocolate covered strawberries and grapes.  OH FRUIT HOW I LOVE YOU!  OH CHOCOLATE HOW DB LOVES YOU!  OK, let’s be honest:  It was mostly a convenience purchase because we both love it, it’s normally totally out of our budget and we had a coupon.  I do think it is super dumb that they have “Valentine’s” fruit arrangements (versus a…”birthday” fruit arrangement…and what is the difference?) (MMmmmmm fruit) but whatever.  I love it.  They could call it “Christmas” fruit and I would find it delicious in July.  I cannot wait for it to get here.

Moving on…

I decided to use Valentine’s Day to jump on Laura’s post about her husband.  See, it was her anniversary the other day, and I made it to her post because apparently she had a dream about me and her skinny jeans, and DB has given me some ripe fodder these days because, it seems, he is pregnant too. So it’s kind of almost like he’s watching Oxygen right along with Ed, Laura’s husband.  They seem to be of similar ilk.

(Hi DB, I love you…)

So first, DB’s diet of late.  It seems that he has this thing for pickles.  As in, I ate that one pickle back in the day, asked him to get some more, and haven’t been able to touch them since.  However, DB has really picked up the slack.  He eats pickles for every meal.  Like, um, a pregnant woman.  He also ate ice cream for dinner last night.  (I ate a sandwich.  He didn’t eat ice cream because of me, that’s for sure.)

On the flip side, DB is my culinary hero.  Two nights ago, I asked him to pick up dinner at a local deli.  This place has a massive menu of sandwiches, fried food, and things like burgers and hot dogs.  I asked him to get a LOT of food, since I wasn’t so up for anything in particular and I figured I would find something in the array that I could eat…so he bought a sandwich (that he hates), some mozzarella sticks (that the last time he purchased about a month ago, I was so in love with I wouldn’t let him touch), and, for himself, a chili dog.  With the chili on the side, since I thought perhaps I would want a *bite*.

I am a vegetarian.  The notion that I would *want* a bite of his hot dog is a totally foreign concept.

Anyway, he came home with all of this food, and opened up his hot dog to take a bite.

I looked at that hot dog.

If there was a soundtrack for my life, it would have sounded like the heavens opened up RIGHT ON THAT HOT DOG.

It looked like…well, words can’t do it justice.

So I asked him for a bite.

Unhesitatingly, he handed it over.

I took the first bite.

It!  Was!  Orgasmic!

Seriously.

I swooned.

He watched me get giddy over *his* meal.  With *TWO* other options in front of me.

I asked him if I could take another bite.

OH MY GOODNESS I WAS IN LOVE.

I have never been so in love with a food object before, let along a processed meat product.  Who the heck am I these days?!?

He had to eat PB&J that night.

I LOVE MY HUSBAND!

OK, moving on from food…

Sleeping:  I did not know this before getting pregnant, but apparently one has to pee a LOT in the first trimester.  I am up at least once (and usually twice) every night to pee.  It kind of sucks.

In the beginning, it sucked for DB, too, since apparently I am as graceful as an elephant getting in and out of bed.

However, a few weeks ago, I noticed a strange new phenomenon.

I was not the only person getting up through the night.

For some reason, DB, too, must wake up to pee through the night.

??  That is just weird.

Puking: DB has always had a very sensitive stomach.  I call it efficient.  His stomach detects something undesirable and boots it out, quickly.  Flip switch, eject.

Recently, he’s gotten more pukey.  (Perhaps it is the diet of ice cream and pickles…)

However, on the flip side, I must end with this tidbit of why I do love my husband oh-so-much.  These days, I’m only pretty much throwing up once a day – at night.  It’s tolerable, since I am not really nauseated the rest of the day.  (I mean, it would be better to keep it all in, but I’ll take this.)  (I did not throw up the orgasmic hot dog.  And no, I cannot think of a better adjective than that.  I think it really says it all.)

So ANYway!  Last night, I brushed my teeth gingerly, hoping it wouldn’t incite the stomach to blow.  As I was leaving the bathroom, I sensed a problem.  Being the very independent woman that I am, I called out, “D!!  She’s gonna blow!” –

He charged in.  “Oh, no, honey.  Just relax.  Take a deep breath,” rubbing my back.

Oh, no.  Too late.  I yacked in the sink.

Here is where I have a wonderful awesome husband:

UNFORTUNATELY, some yacked up parts did not make it down the drain.  The sink began to back up.  (I did not share the similar story of when I was in the shower and I was alone, but I think there are some things I need to keep to myself.  Go figure.)  DB ran to the kitchen, got a plastic fork, and started to jam. barfed. up. tomatoes. down. the. drain.

How insanely disgusting is that?

I know.

And then we went to bed.

Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.  I think it is a stupid holiday, but I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone other than you.

*This has never happened to me, although I moved a lot as a kid and I have no doubt that it could have.

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