A/N: 'Tis been a while hasn't it? Sorry people for the wait, I've been busy with track and needless to say I've become very outgoing and stuff. It takes up time basically. But here's this chapter. Hope it was worth the wait. Actually, on second thought, maybe not.

in the famous words of Phoebe Buffay, "not-mine, not-mine, not-mine!" I don't anything except the plot. Okay thanks enjoy :)

When my wife spent four consecutive weeks eating virtually nothing but crackers, I have to admit, I was worried. You see, Rory is what they call a petite woman. In fact, there isn't an ounce of fat on her. She's tiny. Wee.

Don't get me wrong – she eats like a horse. Sometimes she can even put me to shame – especially when it comes to pizza or ice cream. The girl can eat. She gets it from her mother. It's a whole Gilmore thing. But since she got pregnant right around Christmas, her body has been all over the place. The first month was pretty wretched – she literally couldn't keep anything in her stomach. I've heard about the horrors of morning sickness, but her pregnancy took it to a whole new level. And so, anytime she put anything significant in her stomach, it came back up again. And, as the worried husband – I was worried that that tiny little body would suffer. Not to mention the even tinier body growing inside it.

But, thankfully, as the first month drew to a close, the queasiness subsided to just the occasional twinge and Rory was able to move on from her diet of saltine crackers and water. She was, understandably, thrilled with this development. I guess after a month straight, crackers lose what little glamour they possess.

With the second month, however, came the onset of the famous pregnancy cravings. And for my wife, the first craving was peanut butter. I have to admit, the first time I actually witnessed her satisfying the craving I was somewhat taken aback. It would have seemed normal to me to come home from work to see my beautiful wife indulging in a peanut butter sandwich. Or perhaps a slice of apple dipped in peanut butter. But no. When I arrived home from work one evening, I walked into the bedroom to see her sitting in bed with a spoon and a jar of Jif. No bread. No crackers (not surprising). No fruit. Just the spoon and the jar. Which, by the way, was almost empty. My beautiful, pregnant, petite wife had consumed nearly an entire jar of peanut butter as she sat in bed watching infomercials. And, to be honest, it was kind of cute.

But it didn't stop there.

As the days rolled by and the craving persisted, Rory, who always smelled like a combination of clean laundry, vanilla, and what I have since learned is lavender, began smelling remarkably like peanut butter. She ate it on everything, including, as a particular favorite, on her baked potato. More than once, I even had to alert her that she was sporting some of the spread in her hair. (On one especially alarming occasion, she took her hair in her mouth and sucked the peanut butter out. Having been on the receiving end of more than one withering stare in recent weeks, I opted to keep my mouth shut.)

The craving, of course, wasn't limited to the occasional jar. Our house became a microcosm of supply-and-demand: she demanded, I supplied. Reese's Pieces, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (and, contrary to what I thought, there is a difference between the two; apparently a strong enough difference to warrant my making a second trip to get the right Reese's candy), Nutter Butters, five different variations of peanut butter ice cream… if it had the beloved ingredient, it was on the list.

Of course, we hit the occasional snag – generally in the form of my finishing off the jar to make myself a sandwich or a snack and not replacing it within fifteen minutes before she had the chance to realize it was gone. My cute little wife can have quite a mouth on her when she's mad – not to mention the creative slew of insults she can hurl from that sweet little mouth of hers. Feisty. I like that. Let's hope the tiny blob doesn't get the sailor mouth from her mother.

But the only time we ran into a real problem was when the peanut butter got in the way of the sex.

It had been awhile. Understandably, since she had spent the better part of a month hugging the toilet. But it had been awhile, and going from hot-and-heavy to cold-and-celibate had been jarring, to say the least. One night, Rory, my little minx of a wife, suggested combining our two favorite things (mine being the sex, and hers – at least for the moment – being the peanut butter).

Like any husband, I like to believe that the sight of my naked body sends my wife into a lustful frenzy. On that night, however, I can't be sure if it was the sight of my naked body or the tub of Jif peanut butter sitting on the nightstand. I was excited. She was excited. Things were going well, until she got distracted by the peanut butter to the point that I pretty much could have left the room without her noticing.

The night didn't end well. Certainly not as well as I had anticipated.

That was the last time Jif was allowed in my bedroom.

A/N: yeah sorry it's been a while. I stopped because of the track-sport-joining thing and juggling honors classes aren't boding so well for me. Thanks for taking the time to read. Hopefully i'll be able to get my time for the next chapter up out soon. Fingers crossed people! :)