Still, my wife does occasionally complain about the way certain food tastes. She thinks the Panda Puffs cereal she's been eating for 1,354 consecutive days tastes like Thai food, and while she likes Thai food, she doesn't like it for breakfast. Good thing she's not Thai, or she'd only eat two meals a day, which would be down from the four meals she currently eats. She invented a second breakfast. Take that, Taco Bell Fourth Meal.
Much of my wife's complaining centers on eating, which isn't new; it's just much more violent. It's also considerably more challenging, as my wife's tastes change on an hourly basis. Here is an incomplete list of things she's craved in the first trimester:
Red Fruits (e.g. Cherry)
A Single Plum Floating in Perfume Served in a Man's Hat
Just kidding. She's been craving rum. Lots of rum. On French toast.
Mostly, my wife complains about my inability to carry my powerful unborn child. She likes to poke me in all the places she feels extreme discomfort. I get poked in the abdomen every day. It brings us closer together. That's another thing my wife complains about: physical contact. The weight of my arm hairs is oppressive. She complains in equal measure about the absence of physical contact.
There are no possible solutions. But the good news is that all my friends with children have assured me that pregnant woman become increasingly rational, fair, and kind throughout their pregnancy and into the subsequent decades of child rearing. So that's a relief.
"A Single Plum Floating in Perfume" from The Simpsons