Love is a Hamburger

It may be difficult to believe that two people can cohabitate for nearly three years in a mere 350 square feet of space without killing each other, but we have managed quite well thus far. So well that we threw a dog into the mix. So well that we're now throwing a baby into the mix.

It's like our own little social experiment.

Spiceboy has scarcely left my side since I went on bed rest, which means we’re together nearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

You would think that we’d be happy to get away from one another, that Spiceboy would be ready to kill me (maybe he is?), or that I’d be dying for a little space, a little quiet time.

Yet when Spiceboy leaves the house to run his daily errands, I perch atop our bed, anxiously await his return.

Why am I so anxious to see him again? Is it the magic of true love? The dark mark of co-dependency? The madness of raging pregnancy hormones?

Is it because upon his return from his adventures in the outside world, he brings me gifts of flowers and jewelry?

Nope.

It's because he brings me food.

Last week, it was a reuben sandwich. Two nights ago, it was Haagen Dazs ice cream bars.

Today, Spiceboy has promised to bring me a burger from Stand. With ketchup. And mustard. And those yummy thick-cut pickles.

Do you see why I am so in love with this man?