Things that I do not want to eat. Unfortunately.

My sense of smell has officially reached the point of a super-human sense. So has my stomachs lack of appreciation of food.

The bastard.

Coffee; Seriously. A whiff in a coffee shop will have me running to the airlock.

Meat; Raw meat, cooking meat; it doesn’t matter. Meat in general can just be set aside for the time when the husband comes home. He can deal with it. I’ll be hiding in the end bedroom with the fan on high.

Sweets; Anything sweeter than a dull flavoured banana muffin can just leave.

Eggs; Little demons. Little yokey demons.

Bacon; (I’m sobbing as I write this.) I’Il eat it if it’s cooked (Not by me) to within an inch of it’s life… but other than that, Nooo.

Booze;  This last one isn’t really a bad thing. I quit drinking a while ago, but it sad when my husband says to me, “Taste this new beer I just concocted…”  It’s great, for the tiny half-sip that I have, but I can’t imagine myself downing a glass.

I can’t say this journey (I feel like Julia Gillard every time I use that word…Journey…) has been easy as pie, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am actually coming to know the route between my new bedroom to the bathroom at 2am with my eyes shut… literally.
I’ve only bashed into a wall a couple of times, and then complained about it at the top of my lungs.

I’m also beginning to find the bodily changes quite interesting, albeit somewhat irritating at the same time.

Although, There are plenty of positives. I’m being negative at the moment because I’m hungry but at the same time want to turn my stomach inside out.

Being able to eat as much or as little as you want is pretty dang cool, and if anyone gives you the “What the hell are you doing?” look, you just glare at them an silently point in the direction of your ever growing stomach region… that shuts them up quick smart.  You get an extra 5 points if they laugh and then you consequently make them feel terrible for it.

Also, crying. I was never a big crier.
Watching Titanic got from me a sincere, “Oh No. He’s going to die… when he could clearly fit on that door too… what the fuck. Just shove over, ya bitch!”
But, being pregnant and crying… holy shit. Wherever, Whenever.
I was eating with a friend of mine a few weeks ago and wanted to sob into my napkin because the food was so good. I didn’t though, I held myself together.
It probably would’ve been an awkward moment between he and I, If I had let myself go.


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