I Lost My Poor Meatball

It's all about food this week. I did not plan on having a theme week, and I don't think I will be doing any promotions or dressing up as a hot dog (mmm.... hot dog...), but the topic keeps coming up.

I had leftover meat from the cheeseburgers and the sarma, so I decided to make Swedish Meatballs. I was browning them when Christine came over. With a Filet-o-Fish. Joy! All the pleasure, none of the guilt, as TCBY used to say (I am old. See: Elderly Pregnancy). It was as good and bad as I hoped it would be.

We knitted and watched America's Next Top Model, cleansing our brains of rationality, sane judgment, and deep thought for the space of an hour (Allison's GONE! Our wish came true!). Christine is knitting on a lovely pair of fingerless mittens, which we are crazy about in general, and I decided to get out a baby blanket I am working on very slowly. It's made of organic, undyed cotton, and it's gorgeous. I find myself petting it between almost every row. If the baby is nice, it can have the blanket. If not, it's mine. After ANTM, we watched Friends and chit chatted about this and that. It was a lovely evening.

I have noticed that the simplest, tiniest thing can completely change my mood. After Christine left, Pete and I ate some meatballs with noodles, which was very good, and we were just sitting on the couch. When Hazel jumped up on the stove and jumped down with a mouthful of noodles, that was it. Mood ruined. Time for bed.

I read until I was sleepy, as is the usual routine, and turned out the light. At about midnight, I woke up feeling sick, but tried to deny it in my sleepy state. My stomach was upset, my bowels were hurting; it was bad on both ends. I got up about twenty minutes later and headed for the bathroom. I started running a bath when I realized that the meatballs were coming back up, and it was not going to be pretty.

They did. It wasn't.

It's been a long time since I have thrown up. I have been very lucky with the pregnancy so far, and nausea has not had active expression. Even this was not related to being pregnant, I think. For as long as I can remember, and indeed, for as long as my mom can remember, I have periodically woken up in the middle of the night, barfed, and went back to bed. It has not happened in awhile, and I had been hoping I was over it.

It doesn't really matter what caused it, though. The meatballs are over. Now Pete has to eat a kettle of sarma and a pile of meatballs all by himself. I hope he's up to the task.