Dinner tonight was awesome. Really. I would not consider myself a cook, but it even looked pretty on the plate.
A vat of mashed potatoes turned Parmesan Salmon Patties with a salad of beet greens, roasted beets, candied pecans, feta cheese, and a orange juice/balsamic vinegar dressing. Also served with thinly sliced nectarines and blackberries. I candied the pecans myself, Booyah!
On the counter is my giant stainless bowl full of cucumbers pickling a la Abe's Delicatessen- to be served with top round roast turned roast beef later this week, a crockpot of homemade humus with plans for fresh pita bread, and THE best zucchini bread ever. Nothing says comfort like Paula Deen. God bless her and the Food Network!
I am hoping I puke it all up.
All of it.
Even the beets.
I've never done that before and it has the potential for looking amazingly gruesome.
The puking stopped three days ago. This would have been FAN-tabulous had I not had my first midwifery appointment where we were unable to "locate fetal heart tones." There are three (maybe four) potential explanations for this. 1) No heart tones= no baby and it was the two Klondike bars which have caused some rather sensational bloating. 2) My anatomy is making it difficult to auscultate the little bugger. 3) I can't count and I'm not really 12.5 weeks. And the 4th and quite possibly the most difficult to stomach) I'm going to birth a vampire who doesn't have a heart and then have to name it something awful like Renesmee.
Given a choice, I am obviously going to go with option number 2. We have decided to opt for an ultrasound. The potentially harmful sonic waves can be no more detrimental than marinading in a vat of fear and nerves for the next two weeks. We are scheduled for Friday. At that time we will have to consider whether or not we can afford to stop again for groceries, like we did after our last appointment. Besides the budgetary considerations, small talk with a polite but rather clueless checker can create for a potentially awkward moment of epic proportions.
"So, how was your day?"
"I had a tooth extracted and then we went to the midwife and found nothing."
He opted to smile politely instead and went with "fine". God bless my Husband, he really did have a crappy day.
I have bookmarked sites full of goodness I fully plan on revisiting later this week like stuffed zucchini, fresh basil pesto, and pumpkin bars. My newest, latest, and greatest theory is that when things get Crappy you respond with one of the 3 C's. Cook, Cry, or Clean. Never having tried it before, I've gone with the first. And I've been pleasantly surprised. Stress is abundantly more tolerable sauteed in butter and guilt is surprisingly more palatable dipped in chocolate.
My lifelong regret list is now two long. Alongside quitting the violin in 7th grade rests saying that I hated being pregnant. I'd take it all back if it would just come back up.
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