and it changed my whole post for today.
A few short minutes ago, I was one paragraph into writing about Serious Stuff on this blog, like career development and choosing where to live for the next several years. Then someone from a cube or two over decided to open up a package of some food or the other and it smells JUST LIKE FRENCH ONION CHIP DIP and now I can’t think about anything except Ruffles potato chips and French Onion dip.
This is a pretty good example of what this pregnancy has been like for me, overall – I possess a disturbing aversion to the whole food, clean eating lifestyle I tend to enjoy normally and instead gravitate toward non-food as much as possible, and my sense of concentration is pretty well shot, too. I’m not sure what it is about this pregnancy that is creating such dramatic food aversions, but I’ve been this way since the first month. At various times throughout my pregnancy I’ve been able to at least tolerate healthy, wholesome foods – during the summer I gorged on farmer’s market veggies sauteed in olive oil and garlic and served over pasta, and I went through a long period of enjoying veggie sandwiches with avocado, tomato, cheese and mayonnaise, but each time I found a dish that WASN’T a hot pocket or cheerios enjoyable, there was only a finite time for me to enjoy that particular meal until I thought about it too much and suddenly, the smell of fresh veggies simmering in olive oil ended up turning my stomach – the thought of a piece of avocado mushed between pieces of bread necessitating me putting my head between my knees until the nausea passes.
Frozen waffles, however? Ambrosia. Frozen flat bread from Trader Joe’s? There has never been a dish more lovely. I know, of course, this is no way to a feed a baby and so whenever I can manage it I throw a bunch of fruit and yogurt in the blender and give my little guy a powerful bunch of probiotics and antioxidants, and I can manage, for whatever reason, large spinach salads with a variety of toppings, so I do those as often as possible. None of these foods, however, should be confused with actual cravings, which I don’t really have this time around. It’s not that I crave frozen waffles – it’s simply that they are infinitely more tolerable than an omelette made with whole eggs (shudder) and full-fat cheese (gag) ((but American cheese product? Bring it on!!)). Honestly, it’s becoming somewhat embarrassing – a colleague was showing off her lunch one day – a leftover quinoa bake from a wonderful restaurant in Pittsburgh -and it was all I could do not to visibly gag in front of her, even though I have eaten and loved the very same quinoa bake in the past. The grocery store is a veritable land mine for me – my sense of smell is as heightened as it was during my first trimester and I can’t stand spending time in the fish or meat sections, but I have no issue trying to convince Ian of the obvious health benefits of the new cheddar-cheese flavored Texas Toast I spotted.
I’m trying, however, to be a good example for my daughter. I’ve suffered through endless broccoli and green beans at dinner even though I think they might kill me, but can’t bring myself to even consider some of our favorite autumn vegetables (brussell sprouts roasted in olive oil, cauliflower, don’t even get me started on cabbage…) Ian is yearning for a return to my normal appetite, and I am, too.
As if my propensity toward plastic-wrapped plastic food weren’t enough, I’ve turned into a space cadet lately, leaving remnants of my scattered self all around Pittsburgh – a bracelet in a cafe I took off because it bothered me while I typed, my ipad on a city bus (long since gone), my purse in my bosses’ office. I’ve started running through a mental checklist for things I used to remember automatically, like unplugging my curling iron and turning the coffee maker off before leaving the house each day. In the evenings it takes an enormous amount of discipline to turn my attention toward a book instead of staring at my newly painted bedroom walls and wondering what kind of modern day furniture will fit in our Victorian-designed bedroom. I mean, I can barely watch television! Instead of choosing from one of the many programs I tend to enjoy, I endlessly scroll through the dozens of choices while wondering whether it makes sense to start Treme with the third season or not. Actually settling on a show takes a mental discipline I seem to be seriously lacking right now.
So, that’s my dispatch from my corner of Pittsburgh. I want to write about big life topics but whenever I try I end up distracted by the thought of probably Monsato-owned food stuff or and whether or not I should hang proper art on my bedroom walls. I hope my next week’s missive is more meaningful but I have my doubts.