The other night, I couldn’t sleep so I went to the fridge to see what Baby M (or me) would like to chomp on as a midnight snack. Baby M (or me, I can’t tell anymore) reached for a tray of ice cubes in my freezer. Out of all the delicious food we had, the tray of ice cubes seemed to emit the most beautiful kind of shine that attracted us instantly.
10 minutes later, you would have found me sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. One hand holding the TV remote and the other hand feeding ice cubes into my mouth.
Even now as I write this, I have a small bowl of crushed ice cubes next to me. Absolutely delicious-looking to me. And when we go to restaurants I ask for a glass of ice. “Iced water, Miss?”… No dude, ice cubes. I want ice cubes. Going out with my friends, I wait for them to finish slurping their drinks. When it’s just those glistening ice cubes left, I shamelessly interrupt, ignoring what they were saying. “Hey, you still want those ice cubes?”
It’s crazy! I wanted iced drinks when I was pregnant with Daniel too, but never raw ice cubes!
So you know the drill. To find out if you’re normal or completely bonkers, you Google it. Typed “Ice cubes and pregnant”, and half a million search results appeared. Phew, I still have my marbles then. Either that, or half a million pregnant women have lost it.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.