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So, I called her up. It was tough, but I laid it all out—the nightly disruptions, my anxiety about food, and how tired I felt. She was super concerned and promised they’d help sort this out.
Mark’s parents said they were popping over the next weekend to see how things were with the baby stuff, but they had another plan—to tackle the night eating. His mom, Linda, took over the kitchen like a boss, whipping up some of my favorite dishes and packing them in containers labeled “For Mom-to-Be Only.” Meanwhile, Mark’s dad, Mike, installed lockboxes in our pantry and fridge.
“These are specially for you, and we’re making sure you have what you need,” Linda told me. Mike joked a bit as he handed me the keys, “Just a little reminder for our son to think before he eats.”
That night was the moment of truth. Mark hit the kitchen like usual but found himself locked out of the stash. The notes his mom left cracked him up but got the message across, like one saying, “Think of your pregnant wife—grab an apple instead!” He grabbed an apple and that was that.
The next morning, Linda decided it was time for a heart-to-heart. “We need to talk about these kitchen trips. They’re not just affecting you, but they’re hitting our daughter-in-law hard, and she needs her rest and nutrition,” she started. Mark looked pretty sheepish and finally got it. “I didn’t realize how serious this was. I see now how it could really mess with her health and our baby’s.”
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