Pregnancy Meltdown

“And I’m going to go back up there and and I’m going to show him these sweet potatoes and I’m going to tell him that :incoherent due to tears:…. Mean.”

Everyone enjoys a good pregnancy-meltdown story well. In fact, I enjoy stories about people having meltdowns over rather mundane issues, so I figured it was only fair to share with you my complete and utter collapse this evening.

As you guessed- it was the sweet potatoes. It was the sweet potatoes that I bought this afternoon from the local produce guy, henceforth known as Produce Guy (Not good with naming. You can see why the kid is still without a handle).  On Sundays, I spend hours trying to find uber healthy recipes, using locally grown produce and products that I know I can find here.  It’s time consuming and frustrating. {See yesterday’s post for specifics}. Not to mention that while I haven’t really had many cravings (more on that in a moment), I’m weak-willed when it comes to food suggestions. So, if I see a recipe for lasagna, that’s exactly what I want, even though the cost of ricotta cheese would set us back about a semester’s worth of tuition for The Kid.  You say Fruit Loops, I say yum.  The cravings don’t last, so I don’t really need to act on them, but meal planning is downright painful.

Tuesday’s meal consists of Sloppy Joes (The Hubs- poor man. He wants Sloppy Joes. What he doesn’t know is that it’s made with 1/3 lb of ground turkey and supplemented with zucchini, eggplant, quinoa, and carrots.), oven baked sweet potato fries, and a veggie tian that I’m testing for a dinner party later in the week.  Do I need sweet potato fries? No, definitely not. That’s more than enough food for the two of us. Do I freaking want them? YES.  This is a true-blue craving. I need these fries. I need their crispness, I need their Vitamin A, I need them tonight.

But when I start to cut up the sweet potatoes, they are rotten completely through.  Only one part of one potato is healthy, and by that point I would be insulted to go through all that work for three dinky fries.

I’m rational. I’m an adult.

I sit on the floor of the kitchen and cry.  A lot.  Much like an emotionally disturbed child, I bawled over my ruined sweet potatoes.

I’m rational. I’m an adult.

I texted The Hubs and told him that I need the driver to bring me back to the produce stand because I’m going to bring those sweet potatoes with me and show them that I’m tired of them giving me rotten goods just because I’m an oyibo (foreigner/white person). And I know he’s doing it on purpose and I’m not going to stand for it anymore.

The Hubs is really rational. The Hubs is a true adult.

He tells me that I can’t do that.  He had the audacity to not even be outraged when he saw the picture of the uck that was supposed to be our sweet potato fries! He didn’t even champion for me.  Where’s that white horse, huh? Nothing.

I’m rational. I’m an adult.

I sink back to the floor and cry more. Then I start having one of those imaginary conversations where you tell the person what’s up. Those are always the best. I am one powerful broad when I’m having my imaginary conversation screaming session at Produce Guy who has ruined my dinner life.  And I demand replacement sweet potatoes or else I’m taking my business elsewhere.  Produce People fall all over themselves getting me the perfect examples of starchy-goodness.  I tell them that from now on, I will choose my produce- they will no longer choose it for me. When Produce Guy dares to rebut, I cast him a withering stare and shut him down. I walk away smartly and thus end my imaginary conversation…while I lay in the fetal position (on my left side, of course) on the kitchen floor.

Then I cried some more.



The Hubs- kind, sensible, loving, sometimes stupid man that he is, commented on dinner.  “Hm, I’ve never had Sloppy Joes like this before.”


I cried on the couch for an hour and ate mini-marshmallows for dinner.

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2 Responses to Pregnancy Meltdown

  1. Susan says:

    So glad you’re blogging again. Bringing mac n cheese to your house tomorrow along with a whole bag of Doritos. Hang in there… and hire a cook! Xx

  2. Jennifer says:

    Andi – feel your pain.

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