I was now about 7 weeks pregnant (though I’d only found out 3 weeks before because they count your last period, which is weird) and I was out of my mind excited, though trying not to get too invested until after the first trimester.
I went over to my close friend’s house for dinner, not telling my news and even pretending to drink wine with dinner. Excuse me, with the DELICIOUS DINNER. It was seriously the best chicken I had ever eaten.
“What’s the recipe for this?” I asked.
She laughed, “It’s Trader Joe’s. It’s a pesto marinated chicken breast.”
I was obsessed.
I made sure to leave her house early enough to go to the Trader Joe’s by her. I bought a pesto chicken and and carne asada. Delicious.
I was going to eat so well during my pregnancy. I would always have lots of protein ready.
I cooked both meats that night, when I got home.
My house was filled with spicy smells as I went to bed.
The next day, I went to get my lunch; salad with pesto chicken and adobe steak. I took a bite of the chicken, expecting the savory deliciousness from the night before and instead, it was as if I had taken a bite of excrement. It was a repulsive, strong assaulting flavor. I swallowed the chicken because I couldn’t believe that something I had loved just the day before could be so loathsome. I tried a bite of the steak… even worse.
Oh my God, this stuff was terrible. What was I thinking the night before? Or did I get a bad batch?
I put all the meats back in the fridge. I felt guilty and pretended I might want them for dinner.
Unfortunately, just the thought of the meats in my fridge distracted me so much that I couldn’t function; I kept thinking about their pungent nastiness offending me with their presence. I had to throw them away.
I realized that I had become repulsed by meats.