My fast food walk of shame

19 Nov

Before actually getting pregnant, I had lofty ideals regarding how I would eat.  I would, once and for all, abandon preservatives and artificial sweeteners; I would eat fresh fruits and vegetables for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; I would send refined carbs packing; I would juice things; I would turn kale into smoothies that I would actually drink.  I would be a gracefully stoic pregnant lady, unconcerned about physical misery if it meant sacrificing for the next generation (so long as this next generation inherited his or her father’s musical talent and not mine, which is not talent or even hard work that pays off, but is instead torture for its audience).  

Then I got pregnant.  So far, I can divide the first twelve weeks of pregnancy into four or so stages.

Stage One:  Ginger Ale, saltines, and weeping.

Stage Two:  Saltines, breakfast macaroni and cheese, lunch macaroni and cheese, and dinner macaroni and cheese.  Intermittent weeping and intolerance for petty student complaints.

Stage Three:  Fast food hell and veggie sausage patties.  Three trips to Taco Bell, a place I frequent maybe once a year, in less than a week.  As I pulled into the drive through on the first trip, I thought to myself, “How could I have forgotten about the CHALUPA?”  And when I asked the nice guy taking my order what the “Supreme” topping was and he said “sour cream,” I said, “YES!”  By Tuesday, I’d transitioned to the seven-layer burrito, with all seven layers for the first time since high school.  Also on Tuesday, I left the husband out in the cold because I could not wait for him to come home for dinner before I, hobbit-like, ate first dinner.  When he did come home, I reminisced about the glories of Taco Bell (a place he hates) and announced “I love sour cream” while sipping my drink.  This caused him to believe I was drinking sour cream straight out of a glass.  I wish he’d been more worried.  Minimal crying: no spare time between plotting trips to Taco Bell and Foster’s Freeze.

Stage Four:  Nothing sounds good, not my mac and cheese, not my Taco Bell, not any of those pastries I so loved before getting pregnant, not mochas in the red Christmas cup from Starbucks, not a damn thing.  The chocolate shake from Foster’s Freeze did work some magic, but it took me an hour of hard thinking to decide between it and mashed potatoes.  In that hour of food strategery, I did come up with one thing I could eat:  my grandfather’s grits, made with horrendous amounts of cheese, Paula Deen portions of butter, and bordering on the heavenly.  This conclusion–combined with the realization that I cannot have my grandfather’s grits and that he will not meet and horribly spoil our baby–led me back around to the crying.  


One Response to “My fast food walk of shame”

  1. chelfea November 30, 2011 at 4:14 pm #

    I think this is one of my favorite posts you’ve ever written — mostly because it’s funny and partly because it sounds exactly how things went for me (minus the Taco Bell craving — but I DID eat an entire casserole of macaroni and cheese in three meals). Anyway, keep up the writing for my amusement purposes, please.

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