I Am 8 Months Pregnant and My Husband’s Night Eating Is Constantly Leaving Me Hungry

Every night, after midnight, Mark goes on his kitchen raids. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if it didn’t hit me so hard. He literally eats everything—meals I prepped for the next day, my lunch leftovers, you name it. When you’re 8 months pregnant and wake up to find no food, then have to either cook again or run to the store, it’s just exhausting.

We’ve talked about this so many times, but he just laughs it off and suggests I should simply make more or stash away some special snacks for myself. It feels like he’s not taking any of this seriously, just treating it as a quirky thing he does.

So, last Thursday night really showed me how bad it’s gotten. I spent the afternoon cooking up a big batch of my favorite chili, thinking it would last a few days and was even considerate enough to make extra for Mark.

But come 1 AM, there I am, woken up by pots banging. I find Mark in the kitchen, helping himself to nearly all the chili. “Babe, I was just so hungry, and it smelled so good,” he tried to explain, clueless about the effort I put into making it last. “I made that chili so we could have meals ready for the week. We can’t keep doing this. I’m totally out of energy, and it’s really not fair,” I told him.

His solution? “Why don’t we just make more tomorrow?” I was too tired to argue and just went back to bed, but I knew something had to change. I couldn’t keep up like this, not this far into my pregnancy.

Things just kept going the same way. Mornings where I’d find my meals and snacks gone were becoming the norm. It was draining, and after one morning of finding out he’d eaten the lasagna I’d planned for lunch, I hit my breaking point.

Sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by grocery bags because I was too worn out to put them away, I called my sister. I was in tears, telling her how Mark’s eating habits were leaving me hungry and messing up my sleep every night.

She said, “You need to chat with his mom or something. This is way bigger than just annoying—it’s messing with your health.” That was my wake-up call. If anyone could get through to Mark, it would be his mom.

So, I called her up. It was tough, but I laid it all out—the nightly disruptions, my anxiety about food, and how tired I felt. She was super concerned and promised they’d help sort this out.

Mark’s parents said they were popping over the next weekend to see how things were with the baby stuff, but they had another plan—to tackle the night eating. His mom, Linda, took over the kitchen like a boss, whipping up some of my favorite dishes and packing them in containers labeled “For Mom-to-Be Only.” Meanwhile, Mark’s dad, Mike, installed lockboxes in our pantry and fridge.

“These are specially for you, and we’re making sure you have what you need,” Linda told me. Mike joked a bit as he handed me the keys, “Just a little reminder for our son to think before he eats.”

That night was the moment of truth. Mark hit the kitchen like usual but found himself locked out of the stash. The notes his mom left cracked him up but got the message across, like one saying, “Think of your pregnant wife—grab an apple instead!” He grabbed an apple and that was that.

The next morning, Linda decided it was time for a heart-to-heart. “We need to talk about these kitchen trips. They’re not just affecting you, but they’re hitting our daughter-in-law hard, and she needs her rest and nutrition,” she started. Mark looked pretty sheepish and finally got it. “I didn’t realize how serious this was. I see now how it could really mess with her health and our baby’s.”

After that talk, things around the house started to get better. Mark stuck to the new rules, and his trips to the kitchen were much more considerate. He even started helping out with meals more, which was a huge relief.

Our relationship really started to blossom again as we got closer to the due date. The whole ordeal with the nighttime snacking, though stressful, brought us closer together. We learned a lot about tackling issues head-on and supporting each other no matter what.

As we wait for our baby, we’re not just excited—we’re a stronger team now. The intervention solved the immediate problem and ended up enhancing our bond, ensuring we’re ready for parenting with love, humor, and yes, a few well-placed locks. Looking back, I’m just so thankful for how it all turned out. We’re ready for whatever comes next, knowing we can handle it together as a solid team.

If you liked this article, you might like another about a woman who took up a new hobby while pregnant only for it to turn into something she never imagined.

While Pregnant, I Attended a Pottery Party That Turned into a Surreal Nightmare

Olivia is pregnant with her second baby. When her friend Ava signs them up for a pottery party, she learns of her husband’s adventures outside their marriage. What happens next?

I’m currently pregnant with baby number two, and you know how when people say that your second pregnancy will be more emotional? I didn’t believe it because I thought it was some old superstition my mother told me.

But, it turns out that there is some truth to that story. Except it had nothing to do with my baby and everything to do with my husband.

For most of my second pregnancy, I just wanted to hide away and eat all the junk food I was craving.

But my best friend Ava wanted to drag me out of the house and do things together.

“I heard about this cool pottery place,” she said, making me a strawberry milkshake while I put my swollen feet up.

“You sign up for a pottery party of sorts,” she continued.

“And we make pottery?” I asked, thinking of a hundred things I would prefer to do instead.

“Not necessarily. We could paint pottery instead. Come on, Liv, let’s do it together! We can make things for the nursery,” she smiled over the top of the blender.

“Fine,” I said. “But you’ll owe me whatever the baby craves that night.”

“Fine by me,” she said. “I’ve already told Malcolm to watch Tess for the evening while we’re out.”

Ava wasn’t the biggest fan of my husband, Malcolm, so the fact that she had already spoken to him about our evening out spoke volumes about how much she wanted me out of the house.

So, we got to the pottery place and found that fifteen women were booked for the same slot — a full-on party. Everyone just wanted to sip beverages, unwind, and have fun. Which was what Ava promised me as well. Little did we know it would turn into a nightmare.

We were all chatting about birth stories — if it weren’t the women’s own stories, then they would talk about someone close to them.

Then, one woman started to share a story about how she was on a date with her boyfriend and suddenly had to leave because his sister-in-law went into labor.

“It was the 4th of July, and we were at my flat watching a movie when he said that Olivia was in labor. I asked him why he had to go; it was almost midnight, and we were exhausted. It made no sense for him to go along, too. But he said it was a family thing — they all wanted to be there when the baby was born.”

Ava and I exchanged a look because Tess was born on the 4th of July, and I was Olivia. What a coincidence.

After that, she went on to talk about her birth story, which was about six months later. I kept looking at all the different colors of paint in front of me.

“But Malcolm missed it! Can you imagine?” she said to the group. “He was there for his niece’s birth but not our son’s! He said he was babysitting his niece, Tess, and couldn’t leave.”

“What are the odds?” Ava whispered to me.

“Wait, your boyfriend’s name is Malcolm?” I asked.

The woman nodded.

“And this is him?”

I showed her my phone’s screensaver — a photo of Malcolm, Tess, and myself, just waiting for the baby girl to be added.

She nodded again, looking at me with a blank expression.

“Your husband?” she muttered. “But he’s the father of my child, too.”

My heart sank, and the room spun as I tried to process what she said. The pottery party, a room full of women sharing stories, became a surreal nightmare.

The room seemed to close in around me as her confirmation echoed in my ears. My husband had not only cheated on me but had also fathered a child with this woman.

“Water, please,” I told Ava, who jumped up to get it.

The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. The other women exchanged sympathetic glances, realizing the depth of the emotional turmoil I was experiencing.

Feeling overwhelmed, I excused myself from the gathering and left, tears streaming down my face. I stood in the bathroom and tried to get my bearings.

Today, I confronted Malcolm. I couldn’t let this fester, mainly because I was due in five weeks. Before bringing my baby into this mess, I needed to know how to continue forward.

Malcolm reluctantly admitted to his affair and the child he had fathered, and our marriage shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

Now, I’m eating chocolate and researching divorce lawyers.

This isn’t what I envisioned — for my children to grow up in a world where their parents weren’t together. But I couldn’t live with that betrayal.

I couldn’t live with a man who almost missed our daughter’s birth because he was holed up with another woman. Let alone a man who fathered a child with another woman.

My children, innocent in all of this, now have a half-sibling from their father’s affair. It’s a painful reality, but I’m determined to move forward and create a loving home for them.

What would you do in this situation?

Here’s another story for you: Anne can’t wait to find out if her baby is a boy or a girl. Surrounded by close friends and family, she pops the balloon her husband offers her, only to find a deeply disturbing message hidden inside.