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Let her eat cake

Almost too beautiful to eat.


But I managed. I want cake.

Earlier in my pregnancy, I craved saltier foods and strange combinations. Remind me to tell you about the recent afternoon when I sliced sharp cheddar and dipped the rectangles in ranch dressing. It hit the spot.

No photo of that food experience. Sorry. You’ll have to use your imagination to conjure a vision of electric orange Wisconsin sharpness swirled in Hidden Valley’s very own creamy gift to the world. I want to move there, but I hear it rains a lot.

I craved cheddar cheese when I was pregnant with Aidan. For several weeks, my husband would bring a plate of cheese to me when he came to bed. I’d wake and nibble in the dark, mouselike. I was a very big mouse.

Still, I find myself wondering if cravings are real or all in my head. I saw gorgeous cupcakes and suddenly the baby and I NEEDED a cupcake or else. It felt like a real craving—Little jabs from the pit of my stomach, anxiousness, and the feeling I could taste it before I took the first bite.

When my husband brought the plate of cheese he sliced in our little kitchen, I felt cared for and loved. He wanted his wife and baby girl to be happy and if cheese did the trick? Let’s dull our knives. Women everywhere may hate me for saying this, but I think having the perfect food delivered to you by someone you love is an element of the craving. It’s a throwback, caveman idea but I’ll admit to it. I like when my hunter delivers. Primal grunt!

That doesn’t mean you don’t need the chili cheese dog with every fiber of your being. It’s simply more special when it’s delivered with a smile, a kiss for you and a kiss for the baby.

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