Today, in response to a somewhat bleary-eyed man’s feeble attempt to cut ahead of me in the security line, I gave him a gentle elbow and pointed…pointedly… at my soon-to-be-outie belly button, making the “chu” noise with my mouth that means “as if”. Yeah, mister, as IF I’m going to let anyone get between me and that x-ray machine. Can’t you see I’m pregnant?
Over the weekend (a lovely one in England with old and new friends,) I applied a similar ‘but I’m preeeegnaaaant’ logic to my food consumption. I’m only supposed to be eating an extra 300 calories per day, so one serving of meusli is plenty, but the baby gets so little exposure to clotted cream that it seems unfair to deny her a second serving – she’s building teeth now*, she needs the calcium! See also: baby needs curry! baby needs cashews! baby needs seafood pancake! And my favorite, baby needs a nap.
I read somewhere that some tastes are acquired neonatally, so in addition to wearing comfortable but ugly shoes and setting a good example by voting in every election between now and December, I am trying to eat a variety of foods in hopes that the Smidgen will develop a taste for them. My understanding is that without some neonatal exposure to the bitter realm of flavors, a toddler/child/teen/adult won’t enjoy that flavor profile. I had lots of good orange marmalade this weekend, and have been picking raddichio and endive salads rather than the usual meslun mix. Herr R and I both love mustard, and I like the idea that the daughter would have the same mustard affinities as her father, so I loaded up on dark yellow mustard at the breakfast buffet this morning. I was pleased to find it unusually bitter for the first few bites, then less pleased to find it inedibly bitter for the next few. I mentioned it to the restaurant staff, who tasted it and pronounced it rotten. Hilarious. After avoiding any cheeses that may have possibly been made with unpasteurized milk that may possibly have been contaminated with bacteria that may possibly have undesirous effects, I eat a quarter cup of (rotten) mustard from an airport hotel breakfast buffet in a country with an add-more-hops approach to food conservation. Rotten mustard! Who knew there was such a thing?! I should have known there was something wrong with it. Even at first bite, it was more bitter than crow.
*p.s. this probably makes me a bad mom and will result in some serious lashing out come 10th grade, but the idea that there are tiny teeth growing inside me creeps me right the fuck out. Clotted cream helps calm me down, but the jam that comes with it reminds me that those tiny teeth aren’t going to be brushed for months. Eww.