"Before I got pregnant, I had always imagined pregnancy to be vaguely glamorous. Lush hair and dewy skin, debonair strangers offering you their seat on the train, and delightfully offbeat cravings: ice cream and pickles, nachos with whipped cream at 2 a.m. But my first pregnancy unfurled more like a horror movie. My mood was the first to go. After learning the news, I sobbed every day for a month."
"There were a few exceptions. At first, all I wanted was pineapple; I ate so much it made my mouth bleed. I couldn't get enough chocolate layer cake after that. One morning, I woke up ready to sell my soul to the devil for a McDonald's hashbrown. And the whole time, I wanted to cook like I wanted to be in a roomful of wasps."
"That loss particularly vexed me. Until getting pregnant, I used to say I loved to cook. But my relationship with cooking had been frictionless. I was the kind of person who would whip up a batch of "just-in-case" shortbread dough while taking a work call, then roll my eyes at people who talked about not having time to cook. I was that friend, I'm sorry to say, who goes on three dates and starts writing a book about the secret to cultivating a perfect relationship."
Pregnancy expectations of glamour—lush hair, dewy skin, quirky cravings—gave way to severe emotional and physical symptoms. Daily sobbing, prolonged nausea, and exhaustion forced continual eating despite food aversions. Specific cravings included pineapple, chocolate cake, and McDonald's hashbrowns. A newfound aversion to cooking emerged after previously enjoying spontaneous baking and multitasking in the kitchen. Promised nausea relief at 16 weeks did not arrive until around 23 weeks. A subsequent diagnosis of gestational diabetes introduced dietary restrictions and sample vegetarian menus from a specialist, further complicating food choices and the narrator's relationship with cooking.
Read at Bon Appetit
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