ice ice baby

Long, long ago...in a world where I found myself pregnant every couple of weeks or so, I had this marvelously fun habit. It kept my mouth busy. It was virtually calorie free. It was cheap. And I absolutely craved it like a madwoman.

Ice. I loved me some ice.

Way before I had an ice maker in my fridge, I would buy bags and bags of ice. Then I'd plop my sweet ass down with a tall cup and munch away. Movies were fun because I had the promise of munching on movie theater ice the entire time. Driving long distance was tolerable because I had Michael go in and get me a big gulp of ice with a little Snapple thrown in for flavoring. I used to drive around to the places where I knew they had good ice. You know, that small, softly crushed ice in the shape of rabbit turd pellets. Oh. Those were the best. Nice rabbit turd ice in a big styromfoam cup. Good times.

I don't know why I craved it so much but I did. It was like this maddening driving force in my head. Must.Have.Ice. It would be the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing as I laid in bed. Michael even went out and bought me a big fridge with an icemaker so I could have it whenever I wanted, cubed or crushed. Oh, it was heaven. But the worst part is, I couldn't chew it like a normal person with some restraint. No, not me. I really had to chomp it down and crunch crunch crunch.

For the first couple of pregnancies, I believe Michael humored me. He enjoyed bringing me home cups of ice like a husband brandishing a blue box from Tiffany's or something. But by the last pregnancy, I guess you could say we were both a little worse from the wear. I would be sitting there in my own little fat pregnant world, balancing a huge cup of ice on my ever-expanding pansa, crunching like a possessed woman.

Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch.

And Michael would just turn towards me slowly with this strange look in his eye. I believe he would have throttled me, if I wasn't so swollen and helpless and carrying his unborn child. I would look over at him innocently, like what did I do?

"Honey, do you have to chew your ice that way?"
"Well...how else am I supposed to chew it? I like to chew it fast."
"I see that. But it sounds like you have a hollow head. I can hear the echo of your chomping in that big head of yours!"

And then after that, I could no longer chomp with abandon. I would make sure I was either alone, in the car with the radio on so he couldn't hear me, or at home with the kids (who didn't care that mommy had a hollow head). But the luster of the non-stop chomping, it dulled a little that day.

I wish I could say that I still chomped on ice the same way. I don't. It became clear that it was one of those weird pregnancy cravings. I would only want the ice when I was pregnant. The minute I had the baby, the ice didn't appeal to me the same way. It just didn't work. I can't do it now. Sure, I'll try to eat some of the ice in my leftover iced tea, but I can't go to town on it anymore. It bothers my teeth and sorta gives me a headache. Ppbbbfftt.

Sadly, my ice habit has left me. But my hollow head, I'll never get rid of that. Apparently, it resurfaces whenever I eat chips, popcorn, candy, nuts--pretty much anything crunchy. Ask my husband, because he still sits there as if waiting for a chance to throttle me.

1 comment:

Break me off something.

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