My husband had put a LOCK on the refrigerator to control what I ate because he wanted to “help me lose weight” — but what his mother did next made his knees go weak…
I was holding my two-month-old daughter in my arms and staring at a combination lock hanging on my refrigerator when my husband smiled and told me that he finally had “control” over what I ate. Twenty-four hours later, his mother turned that same word, control, into the funniest public disaster of his life.
I sat at the dining table and cried over a piece of steak so small it looked like it had apologized before landing on my plate.
Brandon sat across from me and ate like a man starring in a commercial for appetite. His plate was full of steak, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread, and next to him, a cold soda was sweating.
I had raw vegetables, water, and the facial expression of a woman trying not to throw her marriage with a fork. The worst part was not even the food. It was how normal my husband acted while I sat hungry in my own house.
The worst part was not even the food.
He cut himself another bite. “See? Portions. That’s what discipline looks like.”
I looked at my plate, because if I looked at his face, something irreversible would happen.
After dinner, I washed the dishes, then went upstairs with Sophie and fed her while she blinked at me with her sleepy, milk-drunk eyes. And then I really started crying, because it is especially painful to be hungry while feeding someone else.
Sophie gasped, and I allowed myself to think the thought I had been avoiding all week.
My husband had put a combination lock on the refrigerator.
A real metal lock with a keypad hung from the refrigerator handles, as if it had moved in and started paying rent.
There is something especially painful about feeling hungry while feeding someone else.
Brandon and I had tried for years to have Sophie. Fertility treatments, hormone injections, doctor appointments, hope, disappointment, more hope, more disappointment, and the special kind of crying that happens in parking lots when your body feels like a science project with emotional consequences.
The hormones changed me before the pregnancy did. Then the pregnancy finished the job. My body became softer and rounder, because that is what bodies do when they build, carry, and survive.
Brandon did not seem to mind it back then. He rubbed my feet, brought me snacks, and called every craving adorable. That is the funny thing about some men. They love the process as long as it does not leave visible traces.
After Sophie arrived, Brandon became a man with opinions. Not helpful opinions. More like, “You should work on your figure,” and he said it with a smile.