Maybe they ought to trade-- Daryl's palate is questionable enough to make a pregnant lady meal. This is the closest he's ever been to picky, which is to say he's going to avoid peanut butter a while, and anything that remotely reminds him of dog food.
This all feels so normal as to be totally surreal. Which isn't bad, exactly, it just means he's still on edge, but there's probably nothing at all to be done about that. They get more reasons every day to worry.
And that means there aren't many safe topics. Everything's a damn minefield, you just have to pick what's important enough to risk. Which is why after a moment of trying to decide if pickled beets could conceivably go with apricot jam, he dives back into awkward territory.
"What'd they say about..." he trails off, letting his eyes dip significantly to her middle, not able to finish asking. He's gathered enough not to be in a panic about it-- she's okay, obviously, the baby's okay-- but there's bound to be more to it. How it's going, what happened.
no subject
This all feels so normal as to be totally surreal. Which isn't bad, exactly, it just means he's still on edge, but there's probably nothing at all to be done about that. They get more reasons every day to worry.
And that means there aren't many safe topics. Everything's a damn minefield, you just have to pick what's important enough to risk. Which is why after a moment of trying to decide if pickled beets could conceivably go with apricot jam, he dives back into awkward territory.
"What'd they say about..." he trails off, letting his eyes dip significantly to her middle, not able to finish asking. He's gathered enough not to be in a panic about it-- she's okay, obviously, the baby's okay-- but there's bound to be more to it. How it's going, what happened.