They have 32 flavors, but all I need is one...

I am in heaven. Did I have my baby, get a massage, a pedicure? No, even better, I had a chocolate blast from Baskin Robbins. I crave them with every ounce of my being. I think about them all day long. Nothing at this point taste better than a chocolate blast. Just to let you know nothing replaces one either. Ice cream by any other name isn't nearly as sweet. That's not to say I won't eat the other ice cream, but I will still want a chocolate blast when I am done scrapping the blue Bell carton.
My love borders on obsession. The guy who works at our local BR is my favorite person on earth. He looks like a girl and his front tooth is rotting out of his head, but I don't care. He makes the blasts, so he makes me happy. He did tell me today that I was weird. I was their only customer. Have Utahans gone on strike against the little pieces of heaven store? No, it's cold and rainy though. A little wind and rain is not enough to deter me from going to the ice cream parlor in search of delight in a cup.
I think the only thing that could make a chocolate blast any better would be to drink it while getting a foot massage. Possibly drinking it during sex, but that would mean Brad would be there wanting to share it, so that is not a good idea after all.
Gone are the cravings for pickles and cottage cheese. The days of ketchup worship are far behind me, I am now into the heavy stuff. Why do pregnant women crave things? My theory goes that our bodies know what nutrients we lack and make us long for foods rich in what ever it is we need. Tate is apparently low on cocoa and sugar, which we all know play a big roll in fetus development. Along that line of thought the baby's last weeks spent in the womb are strictly for putting on weight. That being the case I am craving one of the best put-er on-ers of weight there is.
I sit here full and content, for today at least. I fight off the chocolate beast for as long as I can. I try to go a few days in between chocolate indulgences, but the gap is narrowing. The bigger and clumsier my body becomes the more apt I am to give into it's demands. What's that? Can you hear the request for french toast suppers and pizza breakfasts from my unborn child? Yes baby girl, we'll have lots of sticky ooey gooey stuff during our last days spent as one.