Hands off my snacks!
Pregnancy has meant big changes in Georgina's life. She doesn’t drink, she’s in bed by 10, but most significantly, she’s addicted to her husband’s snacks
(Getty Images)
Since we found out that I’m pregnant, my husband Ter has been very supportive and looked after me very well -- aside from that one time when he laughed at my changing nipples, oh, and that other time he showed me the rotten cheese he’d found at the back of the fridge.

At 16 weeks along, with the exhaustion behind me and the two short weeks of all-day sickness a thing of the past, the biggest impact that this pregnancy has made on his life is that I eat all his snacks.

Ter and I eat mostly the same things, and our evening meal together is our unwinding time. We plan a recipe, take the dog for a walk, stop at the shops for fresh ingredients on the way home, and then cook and eat together. I am fully aware of the fact that this happy routine is likely to fall away fairly with the arrival of our offspring, but for the time being, it’s how we conduct our lives.

Where Ter and I differ in our approach to food is our between-meal snacking. He’s a bread and juice kind of guy, whereas I drink water and eat nuts, fruits, avos or cheese.

Snack attack
Or that’s how I used to eat. Although my morning sickness was fairly light and of limited duration, my eating habits have changed dramatically since I got knocked up.

The glorious dark-green baby leaf salads I used to so enjoy are now being elbowed out by a strong desire for iceberg lettuce. I’m only a ladle of Thousand Island dressing away from a Spur Salad Bar.

Whereas a fantastic lunch used to be comprised of a delicious, clean, healthy Vietnamese salad, chopped lovingly, pickled in rice vinegar and fish sauce, my midday desires are now extended to Chicken Mc Nuggets, doused in sweet and sour dip.

It’s as if all the good and erudite adult eating habits I have spent the past 15 years of my life acquiring have fallen away with the welcoming on board of my small passenger. Perhaps our combined ages have averaged out to revert my dietary preferences to just about where they were when I was a teenager.

And part of this regression is an insatiable desire for toast with Marmite. It’s impossible for me to get enough of the stuff. Fortunately, things aren’t so bad that I’m eating plain white bread – it’s light rye all the way, slathered in butter and then scraped with dark slick Marmite, right to the edges.

Seeing reason
Light rye is Ter’s food. We keep a loaf on hand at all times for his between-meal snacks. But as soon as the baby burrowed into the interior wall of my uterus, I became incredibly possessive of this loaf. I even had the audacity, with a complete lack of personal insight, to round on Ter for eating the last slice one afternoon.

“But you don’t eat toast!” he blurted out, bewildered. “I didn’t eat your toast, you’ve eaten all of mine.”

Fortunately, most of my reasoning abilities are still intact, and I was able to see the logic of his argument.  We’ve now resolved to buy two loaves of light rye at a time, and Ter has learnt that when he makes himself a slice of toast, he has to make me one as well. And he has to spread the Marmite right to the edges.

Georgina Guedes is a freelance journalist. A pregnant friend told her that toast with Nutella is the way to go, but she’s afraid of unleashing that demon.

What cravings did you have when you were pregnant? Did you start eating something when you fell pregnant which you didn’t eat before?


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