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The Placenta Eating Talk

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When my husband and I were dating, our favorite topics of conversation were babies and marriage. I know. Totally taboo for couples in their early twenties to talk about settling down, but when the guy you're in love with already has two children, you can get away with those things. I loved to daydream about future babies with him, loved to talk about Chloe and Trey, all the things we wanted to share with them in our lives. We would lay in bed at night, doodling our favorite baby names, and talking about nursery ideas (for the record, our favorite baby names were on the most popular list in 1950).

But now that we're married, the dreams are more intense and we talk about them almost daily. Well, I talk about them almost daily while David worries and frets over the things we need to accomplish before making our other dreams come true. I know he still wants the same things he always has (THREE more kids, you guys. I don't know how I got so lucky), he's just willing to wait two more months until our bank account is full for all of my nesting needs. Instead, I bounce all of my baby ideas off of him to gauge his reaction, including hospital birth versus home birth and cloth diapers.

Look, my husband is an Xbox-playing-bass-fishing-deer-hunting kind of guy. He could live off of steak and potatoes, will not touch coffee unless it has at least 3/4 cup of cream and sugar and would list "chopping wood" as one of his favorite activities. He is a country boy in every sense of the word, but everyone is always surprised to hear about his "softer" side. The Tolkien-reading-puppy-kissing-Disneyworld-loving side, the side that comes out of him when we're talking about babies.

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Like last night I mentioned to him that Holly Madison, a former Playmate, has stated that she's having her placenta turned into pills so she can take them after giving birth to her baby girl.

"Wouldn’t you be totally grossed out if I ate my placenta?" I asked him.

"Uh huh," my husband said, using the voice he always uses when he could not care less about what I'm saying. You know that voice. It's the voice we all give our kids when they're showing us how they can jump in the air for the 7,000th time.

"Apparently this is a thing now. It's supposed to be really good for you and help out with postpartum depression," I mumbled, expecting David to call BS and fake-gag.

"Yeah, I’ve heard it’s full of nutrients and vitamins," he said, surprising the hell out of me. See? Softer side.

"Wouldn’t you be totally grossed out if I ate my placenta?" I asked him because, let's be honest: I'm totally grossed out by the idea.

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"Hey, that's up to you, babe. Just brush your teeth afterwards," he laughed. This is my husband. He could not care less about what anyone else does, especially when it comes to me and the discussion of childbirth. If I don't want an epidural? He is 100 percent behind that. If I want to give birth at home in our tub? He will worry himself to death, but will not push me in any direction. He is the perfect partner to have when it comes to babies.

"Don't worry, I would never. If I was going to, I'd have it in a pill form or something," I answered, snuggling up to my "softer" husband, relishing in the fact that I have such an open, understanding guy to go on this journey with.

He sweetly kissed me on top of the head, gave me a squeeze and said, "Hey, why don't we just fry that shit up and eat it?"

This is my husband. Open, understanding, soft and so country that he would probably fry my placenta with some bacon and salt.

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