Monday, September 1, 2008

Bad Vegetarian!

Ah, the inconsistencies of the pregnant stomach. Today I crave a bucket of fried chicken thighs with a lobster roll or two on the side. This is not good, for I am the sort of vegetarian who dabbles in eggs and cheese but goes no further. In fact, I think that people who call themselves vegetarians but eat fish or chicken are deluding themselves because they have some sick need to identify as "different."

I don't want to be different. I just don't want to kill any animals. I once did kill an animal, in the woods with a rifle. Squatting next to a stream, I sliced it open, pulled all of its guts out, and ripped off its skin like I was divesting it of a footy sleeper. After poking the innards for a bit -- because how often does one get to see some nice fresh innards -- I smoke cured the skin so I could take it home and show (read: freak the crap out of) my college roommate.

Later on, after the thrill of killing had worn off, I felt pretty guilty. The animal I killed was not the sort one eats, so I didn't even have that as a justification. It took many a long year, but I eventually decided that if I didn't have to eat meat to stay healthy, then I had no good reason to kill a bunch of critters in my name.

Am I healthy? I am. My doctor, when looking over my numbers, told me that he wished that all of his patients could be like me. I am not anemic or deficient in any vitamin. My cholesterol levels -- good and bad -- are spot on. I have great blood pressure, and I exercise regularly. At least I exercised regularly until I got knocked up.

But let me tell you something...when your babby-hosting body is telling you that you NEEEEEEEED to eat a pressed turkey dinner from Boston Market right the frig now, all that feel good ideology starts to seem more frustrating than anything else. The worst part? The cravings keep changing. If it was one thing that I could put my finger on, I'd just suck it up and go eat it. My vegetarian husband said he wouldn't judge...he even said that if I reeeeaaaaaally wanted some meaty treat, he'd go get it for me.

Instead, I want salmon sashimi one minute and homemade buffalo wings the next. Twenty-four hours later I want a pizza burger from a Long Island diner. Then it's fried clams and the aforementioned turkey dinner.

What stops me? Two things. One, I'm afraid I would spend the money on, say, a lobster roll and not like it because it's been so long. And two, I'm afraid that I'll get some nasty-tasting burps afterward like I remember certain meats would give me, and there's nothing nauseous ol' me hates more than ripping some garbage flavored burps while trying to fall asleep.

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