Dinner, FHE, workout, come home.
Around 9 o'clock the little guy decided he wanted a snack.
So I got hungry, naturally, and Adam just so happened to be in the kitchen.
My selection of night-time snack #1 went something like this:
Brit: Hey, hun. Would you bring me an apple?
Adam: Yeah, sure.
Brit: And the peanut butter jar with a knife?
Brit: And the Nutella?
By the end of it, I had basically destroyed any nutritional value in that poor, poor piece of fruit.
But it was delicious.
Husband couldn't help but laugh over the massive cliche I was tragically committing. I might as well have balanced both jars on my belly and demanded Oreos to come join the party.