An ode to meat

S was so happy in the early days of the pregnancy that her normally weak constitution had apparently dodged the morning sickness bullet. When we were informing a select group of family members about our impending peanut she proudly drew attention to her lack of morning sickness. Apparently this was enough to tempt the gods of irony because soon after her declaration she started piling up stomach turning food aversions like a squirrel storing its nuts before winter.

There’s only one way to figure out if a certain type of food is going to make you nauseous. And that’s the hard way.

Losing tomatoes was unfortunate, but hardly devestating. Losing red meat at the height of BBQ season? That’s a body blow.

I’m not going to lie to you, I’m fairly big on eating meat and taking it out of my diet has not been fun. I’ve caught myself daydreaming about hamburgers and sausages as I struggle with whatever vegetarian concoction I’m trying to pass off as lunch. Just because rabbits can get by on lettuce doesn’t mean I should.

Oh sure, the first day of our new eating regimen was fantastic. I got to empty the entire fridge of all meat products and spent my time at work happily munching on pepperettes. I was blissed out, new baby and complete possession of all the household meat products. What more could you ask for? But all too soon the fridge was empty and my dinner plate was filled with these strange and unusually shaped objects called ‘vegetables.’ It was tough. Vegetarianism is all well and good, enforced vegetarianism is tantamount to torture.

Sometimes I can’t stand it. The smells of meat are everywhere. At night the scent of BBQed steaks waft in through open windows. Co-workers heat up their lunches, spreading the enticing odour of leftover meatloaf everywhere.

I am awash in the heady perfume of red meat and unable to do anything about it.