Weight-Gain Weekend

A weekend of continual eating and relaxation? Where do I sign?

My husband proposed we take a “Penelope-Free” weekend to celebrate our wedding anniversary in Boston, so I quickly nodded and accepted the challenge.  Bags were packed in 2.2 seconds and waiting at the door–we were shipping her off to Nonnie & Papa’s house, and quite frankly, not feeling guilty about it. The ride to Boston was strangely silent, probably because we were down a toddler and had our phones on silent. We figured we had all weekend to chat and ‘re-connect’ Our conversations would be mostly about the upcoming AFC Championship game (YAY PATS!)  and UFC fights…ahhhh romance at its finest.

In addition to bringing a “snack-pack” of my mother-in-law’s famous cookies along for the trip, we were handed hot homemade chocolate chip walnut cookies at the Double Tree in Boston as a “welcome gift”.  Do they know me? I WILL ask for a doggie-bag to go when we check out. I. am. not. shy.  They have started something serious here.

the snack pack of doom.

After an hour and a half of uninterrupted ‘get-ready time’ (besides an occasional “ya ready yet?”  coming from the bed), we were headed to dinner.  Abe & Louie’s was the spot where we’d eat–without choking down our food in fear of the ticking time bomb yelling “ALL DONE” and “GET OUT” to be unleashed from her high chair.  My hubby is good with planning so I usually leave it up to him for the reservations! Sadly, at this point in my life I’m a bottomless pit and will basically eat anything served to me–as long as its accompanied by dessert.  We shared a caesar salad and crock of french onion soup to start.  French onion soup–although amazing–be prepared to get cheese blobs down your face as you are trying to act sexy while rockin’ your magenta lip stain (thank you BirchBox!).  I literally “cut the cheese” go ahead–laugh all you want, with each spoonful so it wouldn’t be so messy to eat.

Pregnancy Tip: Always wear loose-fitting dresses when looking to consume massive amounts of food. It allows for comfort and “belly expansion” alllllll night long.

Main Course. He ordered the Bone-in Rib-eye, which was heavenly charred and perfectly medium rare, and I got the Shrimp & Scallops Louie.  Huge scallops and shrimp atop creamy risotto with a butter lemon sauce–YUM!  Potatoes au gratin were suggested as a side dish from our server so we took them up on it (I, of course–ate them the next morning for breakfast after requesting a microwave to our room–it’s potatoes, cheese and bacon, it’s breakfast!).

We skipped dessert at the restaurant because he had plans for Max Brenner. Apparently this joint has “drinkable chocolate”–actual thick melted chocolate in a mug–to drink, YES–i know. I’m not sure why this is the first time I’m being introduced to this fantasy, but that’s besides the point.  We grabbed seats at the bar, and began to drool.  He ordered a chocolate martini–which was rude, considering all I want is alcohol and chocolate this pregnancy, and I figured I would try the shaken chocolate milk.  You guys--they took hot melted milk and dark chocolates, warmed milk and shook it.  The bartender then added whole milk and ice and put it in a shaker to create the best chocolate milk ever. We also ordered ‘urban fondue for two’ which allowed you to roast your own marshmallows, makes s’mores, and repeat.  Of course, I lit mine on fire while staring at this girl’s outfit who was walking by. Embarrassing.

Ohhhh, I….I just died in your arms tonight. 
My life in photos.

DAY TWO OF THE HEALTH KICK.  Hubby made a deal–He’d treat me to a pre-natal massage if we could do “manly stuff” like sports and beer at night.  Fine with me! He figured he’d pay a professional masseuse to rub down this preggo bod with hot oils, so he’d be off the hook.  Makes sense, I guess…not.  Bella Sante on Newbury Street was the spot he picked–and even made the appointment for me–yeah, he’s good!  You mean, I could get into a bathrobe as a luxury (instead of living in one, like at home) have cucumber mint water, put my feet up, and just wait for them to call my name for a royal treatment? Okay!  Typically, we are rushing like maniacs to make it somewhere on time, with a little tike as my shadow, yelling some sort of snack request from the playroom–who is completely stripped by the time we are running out the door. Yes, as a matter of fact I will sit and wait here in my robe while drinking this water.  In fact, I will wait here all day–alone–quietly–with the sound of Enya through the speakers. I am completely fine with that.  I may need a snack in an hour or so though.

Jesus runs this place.

Can I just say that this woman had “hands of Jesus”.  Not that I would want him to massage me–that’s odd–let’s say instead, that her hands were “heavenly”.  She lubed me up from head to toe with Mio Massage Oils, that were organic and geared toward stretch mark prevention.  I told her to put a little extra on the back of the knees where my SON was already giving me varicose veins. My legs, my poor, poor legs. Penelope didn’t do this to me–although she finds other ways to torture me now–but why would the new kid ruin my legs? You can’t get those original ‘back of the knees’ back, ya know!

For the first time in my life–besides when asleep–I shut up and laid down.  It was a soothing and sweet 50 minutes of my life, which I wouldn’t mind repeating, on a weekly basis. I was sad when it was over. I wanted to camp out in this oily heaven, wearing nothing but a tan flannel sheet and my contact lenses (should that have gone in the “Pregnancy TMI” section? Too late).  I left there like a well slicked machine, so oily–but so ‘ready for anything’.

That night we went to Boston Beer Works near the Gahhhden (TD Garden) because he figured after the romantic afternoon that I had, alone–I must be in need of some nachos and sports.  To make a long story short, we had nachos, chicken pot pie empanadas, arugula and beet salad, mud pie, strawberry lemonade, and blueberry beer. A drunk Irish kid–straight from Dublin asked my husband to rob a bank with him, then proposed to me (as I was walking to the restroom). My husband declined the ‘oh so tempting offer’ and I, of course, told him that I was taken–which didn’t phase him one bit–then dropped the “and also VERY pregnant” comment–(explaining that I wouldn’t make a very good mate at this point in my life). He clearly forgot about the conversation he just held with us both at our table, five minutes before he ‘popped the question’.  Just another ‘normal’ Sunday night for us–obviously.  We watched the Patriots kick @$$, and headed over to the TD Garden for the UFC fights.  I’ll complain all I want to, but they were actually a ‘good time’–and he bought me a soft pretzel with yellow mustard, so I was doing just fine.  

If his idea of romance is MOSTLY naked men wrestling violently in a cage, while people stare--I'll take it.
If his idea of romance is MOSTLY naked men wrestling violently in a cage, while people stare–I’ll take it.

DAY 3.

Before heading home for my “weigh-in” and glucose test at the OB’s office, I decided that eating more cookies and ordering gnocchi at Maggiano’s was a wise decision.  Well it was, because it was sooo good.  What Italian broad doesn’t like gnocchi?  Maybe I would have ordered a healthy chicken dish if I hadn’t seen (and smelled) the gnocchi walking by me. Thanks adorable old man for ordering them and persuading me to change my order. Wait–did you really think I was going to order a healthy lunch at a place called “Maggiano’s”? Ha–fat chance. Gnocchi–here I come. 

Welcome. Here, we serve carbs and happiness.

Amazingly, I ended up passing the glucose test later that day at the doctors, but gained an insane amount of weight this month. Cheers! ‘Just blaming it on the holidays’ won’t work as an excuse next month, so bring on the leafy green veggies.

greetings from your friendly neighborhood gnocchi.

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