There is this very unfortunate thing that happens when you are pregnant. Your nose decides to overachieve so that it can protect you from dangerous odors and maybe death. Your nose? It can smell everything. The books tell me that this cute little constant reminder of pregnancy acts as a mechanism to keep you away from potential dangers, like, gasoline, cigarette smoke and anything prepared my Chili's at the Tampa airport. It causes your head to spin and you body to weaken as you fight the primal urge to dry heave and hork an entire bag of sour gummy worms all over Concourse C.
I suppose this is very useful now, in a modern world where I make Marc pump my gas as I sit at home basking in the glow that is actually the sweat that breaks out on your face when you feel the urge to hurl.
Ironically, at the same time you sort of crave the foods that disgust you. Tonight I made lamb! I know. Delicious, garlic and rosemary marinated lab. It cooked up so well with those crunchy black tips and the soft moist middle. I know this because I cooked it and looked at it and ate ONE damn bite. I have no appetite right now. Well, that isn't exactly correct. Sour Cream and Onion Cheeze Nips are totally a gift from the good lord above.
Food becomes your absolute best friend and absolute worst enemy. I have never cleaned a plate like I have at every meal in the past three weeks. I no longer care if the meat is thoroughly cooked, pink in the middle or well done (as I have always preferred) or the vegetables are raw or steamed, I eat it. I might eat Styrofoam too if you put it in front of me with ranch dressing balsamic dressing on it. Oops, never mind, back to ranch dressing, southwest ranch, please.
Pregnancy is kicking my ass. I breezed through week four with only a light dizzy spell. Week five was up and down and today? Week 6 starts tomorrow. Week 6 through week 10 are the hardest as far as morning mourning sickness. Mourning the ability to smell and desire food. Mourning the days when I was able to eat what I cooked and craved. Marc isn't complaining. He is eating rather well.
And today? My neighbor is having some "friends" rebuild her deck. These "friends" are classic red-neck old-boy hicks. By which I mean they are actually decent people. They have strange haircuts and can swear a sailor under the table. They talk shit about women, even more so, after they each drink a case of Budweiser while standing on a deck frame. Marc and I took over-under bets about when they would fall off the deck. So today? I'm sitting at the barstool at my kitchen counter and I suddenly smelled the actual body odor of smell-drunk-construction-working man. Seriously! You gals know that smell, no? The way your dad or husband smells after painting a barn or changing the oil on a hot summer day. Well, this smell traveled two houses down and into the windows and directly INTO my overly sensitive pregnant nostrils. Urgh! I actually covered my nose and started shrieking for Marc to close the windows. NOOOOooooooowwwwww!

