Back Away from the Cheese and No One Will Get Hurt

"No!  My cheese!  MY CHEESE!" I shriek, batting away the little fingers that are trying to snitch my dwindling block of yellowy goodness.  I have finally found something that sounds edible and I will not relinquish it; not even to a three year old...or the eight or ten year old, who are hot on her heels.

"Cheese?  I want some cheese!" my eight year old begs.  I cup it in my hands to hide it.

"Can you eat anything in the pantry?  Yes!  Can I?  NO!  When you feel like puking every time you look at food, then I will share my cheese!"

"I feel sick!" offered the three year old.

"BLUGH!  BLUGH!"  my 10 year old boy switched tactics.  He figures that if his retching sounds can really make me throw up, he may have a clean shot at the prize.  I level my all-knowing glare in his direction.  I see his plan.

"Boy Child!  I will aim at you!"  He scrabbles back a few steps, grinning.  It has been three days since any food has sounded remotely appealing.  But the great oxymoron of pregnancy is that if I don't eat, I will throw up.  If I eat anything unappealing, I will throw up.  If I think about eating anything unappealing, I will throw up.

"Mmmm!  I think I will have some of this yummy spaghetti!  Want some, Mama?"  my boy snickers.  He pulls the pot out of the fridge (no, not a serving bowl.  Don't expect too much from me right now.)  "Ooo!  Look how thick and squishy it is, Mama!"  He scoops up a large spoonful--yes, I refrigerated the serving spoon too-- with a slow, squelching sound and dramatically plops a large dollop onto his plate.

My stomach gives an uneasy jolt.

"Want me to get you some, Mama?" he asks innocently, wafting it past me on the way to the microwave.  "I don't mind getting you a nice, big scoop!"

"Uh, *gulp*  no thanks, Sweetheart.  That's very kind of you.  I've got my cheese," I gasp, panting slightly in my effort not to inhale the smell.

"Oh, okay!  Just let me know, Mama and I'll get you a nice, big plate of this great spaghetti.  I don't mind!"  Was that an evil, plotting look on my sweet child's face as he started the microwave?  The cooking noodle scent starts to fill the room.

That smell.  THAT SMELL!

I drop my cheese in my run to the bathroom.