Her: I've been pretty easy on you, cravings-wise. No late night runs, and nothing with pickles on it.
Me: That's true. You've even stopped eating my pickle.
Her: What do you mean by that?
Me: ... That when we go to Panera and I get a sandwich that comes with a pickle, I finally get to eat it myself instead of you stealing it from me?
Her: Oh, right. Okay.
In other pregnancy related news, we had the big ultrasound yesterday, and I've already been rebuked a couple of times for telling people the sex of the baby without asking them if they wanted to know. So I'm asking: Do you want to know what kind of daughter we're having?