A term invented by a good friend that I think describes one novel experience of the first trimester perfectly. John explained in an email:
Anna is an absolute champ about the experience, and has only just about torn my head off a couple of times. I know now, for example, that if she’s hungry I had better get out of the F$#@ way so that she can find some food. Oh – and that coffee and scotch are now the most grotesque smells on the planet.
One night, John was sipping his single malt and at one point leaned in to give me a peck. I kid you not, I think I said, “I love you, but I will vomit on you if you kiss me right now.” Yeah, I’m a catch.
I came home from a long day a couple days ago, famished, and John found my choice of must-haves so perplexing, that he grabbed my phone to document:
In my defense, I really wanted some hot soup, but our ancient microwave was taking forever to heat the stuff. So I went for the peanut butter for a quick protein fix–this makes total sense to me. But I was also making chocolate chip cookies for a birthday, and chocolate and peanut butter always go well together, even as an amuse bouche to cream of tomato. Blueberries with yogurt are simply my fav. I can eat then anytime, all the time, and I need no excuses.