Aubrie the Spud-Eater

Neither of us had been pregnant before. We were both students, both working and both enjoying each others company when we were together. We were as happy as we’d ever been. Tambee, more than me, was working crazy hard. She was getting up early, going to work, and going to school as well. She was driving herself too hard. We were lucky to live near campus, in the upper story of an old house, that housed a doctors office during the day. It was an incredibly small apartment but we loved it, and we loved each other.

One day she came home, incredibly tired and cranky. She couldn’t seem to get any energy not matter how much she slept, something was wrong. After she rested for a few minutes I suggested that maybe she was pregnant. Neitehr of us had been pregnant before so it was all speculation and rumor at this point. We just didn’t know. So I said I would cook dinner and then we would go and grap a pregnancy test.

“Listen,” I said, “I’ll cook dinner, you just rest.”

She looked up at me and said, “Can we have mashed potatoes?”

Now, this question was strange for several reasons. First, we didn’t have potatoes in the apartment. We never did. We liked rice. It stayed longer and cost less. We were rice eaters, not potato eaters. So, for her to request potatoes was like me requesting fish. It just wasn’t in the pantry, and she knew it. Second, her request was just weird. For her to ask for something specific was also out of the ordinary.

“No.” I said with a little too much frustration. “You know we don’t have them. Get some rest and we’ll go grap the tests later.”

After dinner we got the pregnancy test, took them, and they were negative. This was a little unnerving because obbiously someing was wrong, and now we weren’t sure what it was. If it wasn’t pregnancy what was it?

A few days later Tambee came home and I came to the top of the narrow and steep stairwell that led to our apartment to welcome her home. And I was greeted by my wife’s, incredibly tired face, nearly dragging herself up the stairs, her book bag dragging behind her. With extreme effort she hefted her bag into the apartment and then laid down still on the stairs, with her face on our carpet. “I’m tired.” She said simply. I was shocked and a little worried. My wife was, and still is to this day, a worker. She can power through almost anything. She is not a complainer and she is not lazy. And so this complete lack of energy concerned me – mostly because I was going to have to do more work.

“That’s it.” I said, “we’re going to the doctors. I’m calling them right now.”

And without missing a beat, she raised her head off the apartment floor, where she was laying without moving another muscle and said, “Can we get some mashed potatoes after?”

That is when I knew something was definitely wrong.

We went to the doctors, got the test and it was positive. We were delighted. The nurse, who was a friend of ours and my mother, was estactic. She hugged us and couldn’t stop congratulating us. But after the first real hug and congratulations, even before it had really sunk in that I would one day be a father, Tambee raised her head off my shoulder, looked me in the eye with hunger and longing and said, “Can we go to KFC and get some mashed potatoes now?”

And with that, we were off to the cravings. For her entire pregnancy Tambee craved mashed potatoes, especially those from KFC. She loved them, couldn’t get enough. And once the pregnancy was over, she never wanted them again. But, from the time Aubrie was old enough to ask for something, her favorite food has been mashed potatoes. Even now, fifteen years later, I can get Aubrie to do almost anything for the promise of KFC mashed potatoes. She loves the spuds.