Beer and Ice Cream and Maturity

Based on my grumblings about the first trimester, I'm sure it's fairly easy to gather that I didn't miss drinking so much as I missed consuming calories comfortably in general. Now that I'm about a month into the second trimester, appetites have been relatively normal, and I have started to notice adult beverages--more notably, their absence.

Frank has had the occasional glass of red wine in the evening, which I don't mind whatsoever (forget "we're" pregnant. I'm pregnant, and Frank has to live with me, so he gets to drink.) This past weekend, I sat, sniffing the air, wafting the scent of Frank's Pinot Noir while we watched Hugo (which was awesome). I even snuck a little sip while he was in the other room.

Let's be clear though: I'm not the kind to think that one sip of wine would bother my baby. Frank is on the better-safe-than-sorry side, but after an adorable instance where he made two batches of pasta sauce because he was afraid the wine he put in the first one wouldn't cook off, he too has simmered on the idea that one drop won't spoil the batch. I'm not really down with the one-or-two beers rule, but I have to admit I'm starting to miss my casuals.

We went to our second Oriole's game of the week with two other couples, and no one felt awkward enough to not order a beer around me, which I was pleased with. I don't want people to change what they're doing around me in a social atmosphere...unless they're smoking, or yelling, or smell like turkey burgers. Sure, I wished I could order one of the new Natty Boh tall boys with the fancy Orioles can, but I was fine with drinking pure, unadulterated water.

Frank showed up straight from work in the top of the third, and went for his first round refreshments during the 4th. Before heading to the vendors, he decided that he was a reeaaaallly funny guy--like, hilarious--and asked me deadpan if I wanted a beer. Pointed to me and everything.

"Oh, yeah? That's funny? That's how you're gonna play it? We have five more months of this you know."
[Smiles smugly] "I'm sorry" [Giant toothy grin]
[Snarl]"BUY ME AN ICE CREAM."

I smack Frank in the butt as he walks away, shaking my head and smiling. Punk. I yell behind him, "I don't really want an ice cream, I'll just have a few of your french fries." (Perfect example of what I call a "flare and cool down", similar to putting glowing iron in a barrel of ice water. Furious one minute, taking a joke the next.)

10 minutes later, Frank gallantly marches back into sight, wielding a waffle cone full of Carvel's creamy vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.

[Christmas Day eyes and smile] "GASP--Thank YOU!"

In truth, I really didn't think I wanted ice cream--it was heading for 8:30pm, and getting windy. But man, did I enjoy the crap out of that thing. It was SO GOOD.

As time went by, I approached the cone-nibbling portion of the program, and Frank reappeared with his food and beer. I thanked him numerous times in happy tones for the ice cream cone, which our friend Rob reported was a bit of a journey in attaining.

"Can I have some ice cream?" Frank asked.

Now, I have a decision to make here. It's going to happen pretty fast, but it's a decision nonetheless. Fact is, I am happy as a clam right now, and it is because of Frank. This ice cream was to make me happy, but also partially to make him happy. He encroached a line with that comment. I have been generous and unflinching when my husband wants to have a drink with his friends, at this point having driven him home uncomplaining on a few occasions. I have been teased. I will not let it go without a counter.

"Hmm, can I have some of that beer?" I reply.

Frank turns to me, beer in hand, and slugs half of his beer within six inches of my face, making sure I understand how much he's enjoying it. I over-enjoy the rest of my ice cream, and make sure to tell him four times that the piece of cone I left on his tray has glue on it from the paper wrapper, so he BETTER NOT EAT IT. You know, 'cause it had glue on it.

Yeah, we're super mature and we're gonna teach our kids how to share and stuff.

You can drink around pregnant ladies, just don't rub it in their faces.
You don't wanna see that "flare" part.