Late Arrival

The Rev. arrived home on Saturday, after a tortuous journey home from Los Angeles. I left the house at 6 a.m. to be at the airport by 8 a.m., and after standing in the wrong terminal for two hours (I was at AeroMexico arrivals, he was stuck in customs), we finally caught up with each other outside of the international arrivals gate. We found the fried chicken and waffle restaurant, and for the past two days, we have done nothing but talk about driving back up to L.A. to eat chicken and waffles. For a southern girl raised on her mama's fried chicken, the bird I ate on Saturday was the best I have had since eating Uncle Lou's Fried Chicken in Memphis, Tennessee. It was that good. The restaurant looked really familiar to me, and then I read the back of the menu and realized why. It was featured in the movie Pulp Fiction, the breakfast scene where Samuel L. Jackson is telling John Travolta he doesn't eat bacon because "the pig is a filthy animal." The breakfast dulled the pain of the three hour car drive home. Only in California will it take you three hours to drive 76 miles.

The Rev. and I are slowly getting used to each other again, and I commented to him on Saturday night that it was strange for me to see two sets of feet propped on the coffee table. He replied, "It's strange to be watching a movie that is in English." We both agreed it is wonderful to be reunited. He commented on my baby bump, with a "Aww, you have a little bump." It wasn't until I was changing into my pajamas that his jaw dropped and he realized that his wife did learn something from him in regards to camouflage. "YOU'RE HUGE," are the exact words that came out his mouth. I just laughed and told him, "I told you so, and yes, I am going to get bigger in the next four months." The look on his face was absolutely priceless. And I can't wait to see his face when he sees the ultrasound today. Parenthood is sinking into his brain and I am loving every minute of it.