Yeah, so, this whole “eating for two” thing is my favorite part of this whole pregnancy thing.
Yes, yes, I realize I’m not really eating for two. I don’t need to eat twice as much. This tiny, little spawn, who is about the size of a peach right now, doesn’t really require me to eat an entire second breakfast. I just do that because I want to. You are supposed to eat an additional 300 calories in your second trimester, which is about equal to a small bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese. Mmm, mac ‘n’ cheese.
So, yeah, throughout the six weeks of baby poisoning I was eating whatever would make the nausea go away. So long, veggies. The asparagus I usually love … you make me sick! Get away from me! I was all about graham crackers, bread and ginger ale.
Now, I seem to have made it through the baby poisoning phase, but I still crave comfort food. I have worked some fruit and vegetables back into my diet (I still can’t bring myself to eat asparagus again, though – weird), but I really just want to eat stuff that are not fruit and vegetables.
A lot of random things are making appearances in my fridge and cupboards these days. Some of them are old favorites that were banned due to carbs or fat content, and some of them are just random.
Campbell’s tomato soup has replaced the organic tomato soup in a box I was buying. Why? I find Campbell’s more comforting, I guess. I have ditched the healthier multigrain bread for sliced sourdough bread. Why? Because it tastes better, of course. I’m eating those vegetarian Morning Star chik patties. I stopped eating those in 2004 when I started watching my carb intake.
I was drinking soy milk, almond milk or rice milk, but now I have to have 1 percent regular ol’ milk. Several glasses of it a day. At least it’s organic milk. I used to be a milk fiend when I was a kid. If I spent the night at another kid’s house, my mom would send me over there with my own gallon of milk for fear that I would drain this unsuspecting family of all their precious milk.
Speaking of a lack of lactose intolerance, I’m back to eating ice cream several nights a week. I can blame this on mighty, mighty good man David. He’s the one who keeps walking down to the wonderful and delicious Mr. & Mrs. Miscellaneous and bringing ice cream into this apartment, and I cannot resist it. I’m not made of stone, people. I’m a human being, dammit!
I wouldn’t say I’ve had any weird cravings yet, but I would have killed a man around 1 p.m. today for a milkshake.
Something I have been missing is red wine. I would say the reoccurring dream I have most often since finding out I was knocked up involves red wine. I’m at a party holding a glass of red wine and thinking, “Why am I holding this? I can’t drink it,” or “Oh my god! I drank a glass of red wine and killed my baby!”
This weekend I bought some nonalcoholic wine thinking it might scratch the itch. “I just miss the ritual of having wine,” I told myself. So I opened the faux wine and poured a glass to have with our pasta dinner. Sadly, the faux wine doesn’t really taste like wine. It doesn’t taste bad, it just didn’t taste like wine. And it’s not just the ritual I miss: It’s the booze. After a few sips, I pushed the glass away, defeated. I might enjoy a straight up grape juice such as Navarro Vineyard’s pinot noir grape juice, so I ordered some. Sure, it doesn’t have booze, but it probably tastes good.
And I really should learn to make some mocktails.