It seems to me that if Mother Nature had her shit together she would arrange it such that women who are growing a human inside them would be able to nourish themselves, and thus their offspring, reasonably well.
(That said, if Mother Nature had her shit together humans wouldn’t have to keep their species going by expelling miniature versions of themselves through their vaginas in the first place. And ballsacks would NOT look like that. I’m not sure what they would look like, but I’d like to think there were at least some alternatives to ‘dessicated hairy lychee’ on the table. Or preferably well under the table.)
Anyway, I’m not sure if Mother Nature was watching Love Island when she wrote the whole ‘Nutrition in Pregnancy’ chapter of the Homo Sapiens Survival Guide and was thus highly distracted by the desperate state of the Human Race, and was contemplating whether she should put an end to it altogether by playing Katie Hopkins quotes over the global tannoy system on repeat, but she seems to have cocked things up in the most spectacular manner.
Instead of immediately flooding our baby-creating bodies with the life-lifting awesomeness of happy, loving, possibly even half price and lightly sparkling hormones that make us want to eat green food and drink green smoothies and generally GREEN AND CLEAN THE HELL UP TO THE MAX, so as to, oh I don’t know, nurture this growing child,
INSTEAD of this, the moment we get pregnant we either
a) want to eat gargantuan quantities of processed, fat-filled, sugary, deep-fried, additive-laden garbage
b) can’t stand the sight of any food at all,
c) vomit up every grain of decent nutrition that comes our way.
Try making a baby on THAT, darlin’.
Honestly, if she were freelance she’d never have had that pitch commissioned. It’s monumental horseshit.
Now, my eating habits have barely changed at all in the 14 years since I had my last child.
I have porridge for breakfast, I eat a lot of fruit and veg, oily fish, chicken, nuts, seeds, yoghurt, the occasional steak, and chips at any opportunity. Oh, I pick cereal out of the box constantly, but that doesn't count because it NEVER TOUCHES A BOWL.
I am addicted to Nutella - which I eat straight from the jar with my finger like a licky sticky chocolatey pig, obvs - and my bag famously never contains less than 5kgs of granola crumbs and dry mango pieces in various states; mostly just toxic.
It has varied almost not at one JOT for over a decade. And it suits me just fine.
But even before I knew I had a granola-bun cooking in my mango-filled oven, The Pregnant Woman’s Shit Diet had already showed signs of appearing on my menu.
I suddenly stopped wanting porridge for breakfast. Couldn't even stand the sight of it. This NEVER happens.
Just the thought of Nutella made me feel so rank I didn’t understand why anyone would even BUY this stuff, let alone consume it. They are idiots!!
I started running out for late-night emergency missions to the Co-op to clean them out of grapefruits, which I’d never previously shown any interest in at all, BUT HAD TO EAT RIGHT NOW NOW NOW AND GOD WHY IS THE SELF SERVICE MACHINE ALWAYS BREAKING??
Speed was key, as after so many grapefruits I was in imminent danger of unexpected items turning up in my bagging area.
And almost all day, every day, what I wanted most of all was TOAST.
Sourdough toast. With butter and jam. And toast.
I think I’d only had sourdough toast once in my life before this, as it fell deeply into ‘over-priced smashed avocado and organic wank’ territory, but now….now it was everything.
I had sourdough toast before leaving the house, sourdough toast the second I walked into a café for my corning coffee and writing session, I stopped in Sainsbury’s on the way home for more sourdough bread in case my sourdough toast quota ran out before I got as far as taking my sourdough coat off. I even had sourdough dreams.
It was quite, quite bizarre. And it was only the start.
Because from where I was, just starting out in the fledgling, warm-up, Page 1 of Week 5, my food cravings – and my deny-me-this-and-I-will-kill-you needs – only got more bonkers.
And very very soon, Mother Nature’s next piece of boardroom genius kicked in; the brilliant and nurture-tastic thing that is Morning Sickness. And afternoon sickness. And evening sickness. Every day.
Hello sourdough toast.
Goodbye sourdough toast.
Oh…hello again half regurgitated sourdough toast!
Nice to see you again.
Much more of which joy, next time, as we enter...