Friday, January 16, 2009
The Chundersome World of Nausea and Cravings
Or - "Three sauces on a sandwich is neither gourmet nor mentionable in polite company."
Today, I ate the (so far) strangest thing since the Foetus began roosting. I thought I was Wonderwoman, impervious to the obscene and scandalous culinary lustings of the newly knocked up.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
See, pride comes before a fall. Never has this proverb ever rung so true for me as when I bit into a ridiculous salad sandwich that I've never before tried (though I probably will again).
Picture two slices of wholegrain bread topped with fried soy sausages, cos lettuce, rocket, red onion, olives and not-so-ripe avocado. That's all pretty reasonable (except for the avocado but it was JUST CALLING ME, OK.)
It was when I added a few tablespoons of dijonnaise, a good splodge of hommus, and a massive squirt of tomato sauce that I knew I was in trouble. It became progressively worse as I stared at the jam jar, struck by the spirit of exploration. Surely this wasn't madness or hormones - this was a gormand vision!
It says a lot for my self control - and probably Mum walking in at that point was a saving grace - that I only ate a bit of jam off my fingers and refrained from adding to the other sauces. For the record, the sanger was top quality. But you might have to become full of baby to appreciate it.
Oh! On another note, I am officially part of the Honorary Chucking Mother's Club. I was relaxing after a fine dining experience of beans and rice and a hefty swig of soy milk, and relaxing into a viewing of Knocked Up (thanks to Mother Goose for that selection - she caved into my demands to watch it. Because everyone knows better than to mess with a crazy pregnant lady). Suddenly - KA BOOSH. A huge wave of nausea sent me scurrying, laughing hysterically all the way, to the loo for a bit of chunder action.
I had another quick exit from brekky this morning, but nothing notable occurred. I remember this searing disappointment from my days of wooing tequila - I would much prefer that the nausea be followed by actual spewing. You're filled with a tremendous sense of hypochondria and ripped-offedness otherwise.
Anyway, that's all to report from the front lines of baby growing for now. Stay tuned - I plan on regaling you with research about hypnobirthing next.
(and yes, I'm serious.)