I'll Have the Ribs

I had the easiest pregnancy in the history of preggos. Well, not as easy as those trashy women who, apparently, have no idea that they are pregnant and give birth while at the Wal-Mart. I mean, honestly, what is up with those women? How can you be so NOT in tune with your body? But, second to them, I had the world's easiest (at least I knew I was knocked up).

And for the record bebe was 9 pounds 6 ounces so I was not one of those women who has those 5 pound wienie babies. I had my own Baby Huey, a very cute and totally laid back Baby Huey, but a BH nonetheless.

As easy as my pregnancy was, there were some things that the babe felt very strongly about. Hubs had his head on my belly, telling some long-ass boring story about Richard Holbrooke. I was bored. Luc, apparently, was too since he kicked Ken in the head. Really hard. I said "Take it as a sign that you are boring even to a fetus." Ken swore it was a coincidence. We talked about other stuff, no kicks. Back to Holbrooke and Ken gets kicked in the temple. That, my friends, is brilliance in the making.

Bebe was also very specific about what he wanted me to eat. And please don't start on the whole "they can't taste" blah, blah, blah. An example of this phenom is that I am not a fan of buffalo wings and would NEVER eat 1) the skinny end 2) after it has been microwaved 3) two days after its debut. I get home from a Junior League meeting and Ken is partaking of a bowl of these. I know, I know, yucko, but boys have different standards. Luc proceeds to kick me non-stop until I eat one. Once I had one, he calmed back down but, until that point, there was no stopping the tantrum.

When I was eight months pregnant I went to Kansas City for a Junior League conference. A bunch of us went to Jack Blacks {or Joe Shacks, something like that} for dinner. They are famous for their burnt ends. Someone said they were getting the ribs and bebe starting his revolt. I was chatting with the waiter (shocking, I know, I rarely talk to strangers) and said "I'll have the burnt ends." Luc kicked so hard that the big-ass menu launched from my hands {the menu was propped on my belly, which we nicknamed Buddha}. Bebe was clearly pissed.

The poor 18 year old waiter, seeing a menu inexplicably leap from my hands, trembled "What, exactly, was that?"

"Umm, change that. Baby and I will have the ribs."