Hungry?

When I was pregnant for the first time, my parents were overjoyed. And by “overjoyed” I mean “insane”. They hovered over me. They made sure that I was comfortable. They made sure that I was fed, and hydrated. You know, all the things that people who are functioning in society are generally able to do for themselves. And they wanted to make sure nothing upset me.

My husband was traveling one night and my parents came over for a deluxe dinner of Chinese takeout. Somehow the conversation turned to one of their favorite topics—how overweight many Americans are.

“Americans don’t understand hunger,” my father said.
“No, everything is too much here,"mama chimed in. "Did you see the ‘small’ coffee? Huge. And the large? A whole family can drink that!”
“In Russia, we lived through a blockade,” my father announced, referring to a period in the 1940s when the Germans surrounded Leningrad and would not let anything in, including food. Over a million people starved to death. My parents had not yet been born during this time, but their parents and grandparents lived through it and the memories haunted them. To this day, they are unable to throw out a crust of bread, so modern excesses offend them.

“People were starving,” my father continued, as I reloaded my plate with Sweet and Sour chicken. “People ate cats and all dogs disappeared from Leningrad. Your aunt Julia-“
“Stop it!” my mother yelled. “Don’t you dare tell her that story!”
“What?” my father was perplexed, “I’m just talking.”
“Yes, you’re talking. But you shouldn’t be talking to your pregnant daughter about this nonsense!”
“Nonsense?! It is a completely true story and part of our history. It is important.”
“Important? It’s upsetting and probably an exaggeration.”
“Hello!!” I waved a fork with broccoli in garlic sauce in front of them. “I’m still here! What about aunt Julia?” Who wasn’t really an aunt, but what am I a genealogical expert now?
“Don’t get upset,” my mother tried to soothe me. “It’s nothing.”
”Nothing. Her father tried to eat her when she was born, and to you it’s nothing. Normal behavior. It’s a girl! I mean, dinner! That’s how desperate people were.”
“Are you insane?” my mother yelled. “Do you want her to go into labor right now? Look how you’re upsetting our Marinka. Her chewing has slowed down considerably.”
“Well, maybe she can deliver the dessert.” My father threw down his napkin. Or maybe he didn’t throw it down, who the hell can remember. Really, I have no idea how people write dialogue.
“Don’t be upset,” my mother addressed me in a conspiratorial tone. “I don’t think that story is true.”
”WHAT?” my father howled, “are you telling me that my Uncle Boris didn’t try to eat my cousin Julia and if it weren’t for my Aunt Sofia protecting her daughter, there would be no cousin Julia?” Apparently my father is not the type of man to have the family folklore of cannibalism snatched away from him without a struggle.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” my mother said. “But I don’t think that we should upset Marinka like that.”

I'm sure it speaks volumes to my moral character that I wasn't actually upset by that story. But to this day I can't stand when people coo over babies and comment how "delicious" they are.