a pickle sardine sundae...

No, I haven't exactly craved such a sundae (nor any in particular), but though I hate to be predictable,  I have succumbed to the cravings of both pickles and ice cream (but it was the ice cream that nearly caught me in a pickle). Yesterday, craving mascarpone gelato (after having craved ginger, cinnamon and guinduja the days before), I marched my husband to our local gelateria and completely consumed by my gluttony, was completely oblivious of the quite extended line and insouciantly barged to the head of the line with what observers might well have deemed an indecently wide smile in the circumstances. My husband, nervously a step behind me, appeared a little disconcerted, but declined to voice the reason for his discomfort until we were well outside the gelateria, our new treasure in hand. He explained that the multitude of people were aghast and angered, but that when he turned to allow the real person in front their turn before us, whose big, burly and surly description he laboured over, the man simply looked at my belly (ever charging forth!) and waved us forth. The man sensibly understood that you do not get between a pregnant woman and her ice cream (or any craving for that matter).

My other cravings, apart from tomato and cheese, which I don't really count as pregnancy cravings as my magnetism towards them has hardly changed from my pre-ninja belly days, have been for pickles, spaghetti bolognese and sardines. I once bought two cans  and ate them together in front of my flummoxed husband who had dared to voice that my eyes were bigger than my appetite. I proudly cut up my garlic and parsley and squeezed lemon over my conquest, proceeding to eat every bite of the two cans, savouring both my meal and the fact that I was proving my husband wrong.

I have not yet commanded my husband out on the clichéd midnight run, but I am convinced that this too will occur soon enough...