Salt

Yesterday J-Man was reminding me that I am carrying his baby.  This is a recurring theme that goes along with jokes about how early we can get a paternity test. Without going into crazy details about calendars and such, I think we all know this is J-Man's baby.

At any rate, he was reminding me of this fact in order to demand/request/assert that I eat things that a mini J-Man (um, J-boy or J-girl?) would eat.

I told him sure.  No problem.  I already am.

After all, I have never wanted salt so much in my entire life.  This little gummy bear has got to be J-Man's!

I want potato chips.  And crackers.  Chipotle.  And soy sauce (on my non-raw, sushi craving satisfying california roll only). Chicken noodle soup with less than the suggested amount of water added.  Peanuts.

I want it all.

And on days like today where I somehow feel great and the doctor just gave me a ridiculous number of pounds to gain over the next 32 weeks, I fully intend on feeding J-Man's mini-him some combination of vegetables, fruits, dairy, water, whole grains and a splash or two or three or four of salt.