The Marinara Incident (AKA: Pregnancy Brain is Real)

I've had a handful of days during the past three weeks when I made it through all 24 hours without vomiting, and even a few glorious periods of time when I didn't feel nauseous at all. During one such evening, I decided to cook lasagna for dinner. I happen to be in possession of the world's easiest lasagna recipe. I know this because it's called "World's Easiest Lasagna Recipe." It's also yummy and mildly healthy since it uses ground turkey instead of meat and cottage cheese instead of ricotta. Also, did I mention it's easy? You don't even have to cook the noodles first. (I'll attach the recipe at the end if you're nice to me).

I drove to our neighborhood store for the first time in a month. I learned early on in my morning sickness that it's pretty difficult to avoid seeing food in the grocery store so I stopped going altogether to avoid any embarrassing gagging incidents. Once there, I grabbed the necessary ingredients for cooking lasagne: noodles, mozzarella, spray-and-wash. Finally, I stopped in the pasta aisle to pick up a jar of pasta sauce.

The one thing I know about the recipe is that you must use a pasta sauce. You cannot use a marinara sauce. I once accidentally used a marinara sauce and the lasagna came out as a watery, soupy mess. I had to throw the entire thing away.

Now, I'm not a decisive under the best circumstances, and somehow pregnancy has made the decision making process all the more difficult. I stared at a shelf holding ten different brands of pasta sauce for about fifteen minutes, trying to figure out which promised a more flavorful culinary experience by comparing labels: a cartoon drawing of tomatoes, pepers, and mushrooms or Paul Newman's head? The only thing I knew for certain was I had to pick up a pasta sauce. Not a marinara sauce. I kept repeating this fact to myself over and over and over again in my mind.

I think you see where this is going.

I eventually settled on a jar, paid for my purchases, and returned home to assemble my dish. An hour later, I removed the aluminum foil and uncovered my pasta to find, you guessed it: a watery, soupy mess.

I turned to my husband.

"How did this happen? I KNOW I didn't grab a marinara sauce. There's no way...."

But sure enough. There it was. Sitting on top of the recycling bin. An empty jar of marinara sauce.

Fortunately, J rushed into action and started spooning excess liquid into the sink. A couple additional minutes of steaming and the lasagna was salvaged.

My brain, however? That's still a watery, soupy mess.

So, as promised, here's the recipe. (FYI, J and I usually halve the recipe and still have three days of leftovers.)

- 1 1/2 (26-ounce) jars of Pasta Sauce (Not marinara sauce...but you already knew that)
- 1 lb ground turkey (I use a bit more 'cause we like it meaty)
- 1 (8-ounce package) dry lasagna noodles (10 strips)
- 1 (16-ounce) container of low-fat cottage cheese
- 2 (8-ounce) packages of mozzarella cheese

* Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
* Spray a 9X13-inch glass dish with non-stick spray
* Cook ground turkey on the stove in a large pan. Salt and pepper to taste.
* Remove from heat and stir in pasta sauce.
* Line the bottom of the lasagna dish with 1/3 of the pasta sauce/meat mixture.
* Lay 5 strips of uncooked lasagna noodles on top of pasta sauce mixture.
* Spread one cup of the cottage cheese over the noodles
* Sprinkle 2/3 of the mozzarella cheese over the cottage cheese.
* Repeat the layers ending with sauce.
* Cover with foil and bake at 375 for 1 hour.

Bon Appétit!

Baby is Officially "Cute"

So I don't want to brag or anything, but our OMGyn called our baby "cute" at our 12 week check-up. And this is a woman who has seen thousands upon thousands of these things. (And no, she doesn't say that to everyone! I asked the nurse.) Listen for yourselves:

She also said it was "very photogenic" but we didn't get that on video.

Given that we live in Los Angeles, any agents out there reading this blog who want to get a jump start on repping our "cute" "photogenic" baby once it's born should totally get in touch. We are currently entertaining offers. Ford? Elite? Call me!

And yes, we will definitely be boasting about this little incident through baby's college years, wedding day, and probably beyond.

Feed Us Fetus

Feed Us Fetus

A short play about morning sickness.

By Alison Bonn

A MOTHER, 30’s, in her first trimester, exits a building and puts on a jacket. A VOICE talks to her.

FETUS (O.S.)

Are we going to eat soon? 

MOTHER

Yes, of course. What would you like?

FETUS (O.S.)

I’m STARVING!

MOTHER

I’m leaving work now. 

Mother walks down a city street. 

FETUS (O.S.)

I’ve never been so hungry in my entire eight weeks of life!

MOTHER

I’m going as fast as I can.

FETUS (O.S.)

Don’t worry about me. I’m only in the most critical stage of my development. 

MOTHER

I did feed you a nice oatmeal breakfast this morning. If you recall.

FETUS (O.S.)

Yeah, so?

MOTHER

You threw it up.  

FETUS (O.S.)

Pfft. It had raisins.

MOTHER

I thought you liked raisins.

FETUS (O.S.)

That was last week.

MOTHER

Oh. I’ll make a note of that: no more raisins. I’m just saying: if you didn’t reject the food I ate, you wouldn’t feel so hungry now. 

FETUS (O.S.)

Look, I just developed hands a few days ago. You think I have the ability to reason?

MOTHER

No I guess not. I’m sorry.

FETUS (O.S.)

So...haven’t eaten yet.

MOTHER

Okay okay. What do you want? Pizza?

FETUS (O.S.)

Nope.

MOTHER

A bean burrito?

FETUS (O.S.)

I’m going to make you gag.

MOTHER

No please don’t, I’m in public. What about a veggie sandwich? You like those.

FETUS (O.S.)

Here comes a gag.

Mother gags.

MOTHER

Please! I’m happy to feed you whatever you want. Just tell me what you want. I feel dizzy.

Mother sits.

FETUS (O.S.)

Sushi.

MOTHER

Excuse me?

FETUS (O.S.)

I want sushi.

MOTHER

You know I can’t do that. Sushi is bad for you. There’s mercury in it. And bacteria.  

FETUS (O.S.)

I WANT SUSHI! 

MOTHER

Please anything but sushi...

FETUS (O.S.)

Here comes another gag....

Mother gags again.

FETUS (O.S.) (CONT’D) 

Oooh, that was a good one. I think I tasted a little leftover oatmeal. 

MOTHER

Okay! Please stop. I’ll eat sushi. You need nutrients. 

FETUS (O.S.)

Oh my god! I can’t believe you would be willing to risk my health like that! Sushi? Are you crazy?

MOTHER

But...but...

FETUS (O.S.)

You’re going to be a terrible mother.

MOTHER

You said you wanted it. 

FETUS (O.S.)

I’m just fucking with you. I may not have reason yet, but I did develop a twisted sense of humor around week five. 

MOTHER

Really?

FETUS (O.S.)

How else do you explain the number of times I wake you up to pee in the middle of the night? 

MOTHER

I never thought of it that way. 

FETUS (O.S.)

Hill-arious. 

Mother sighs.

FETUS (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Don’t worry. In a few weeks, I will stop making you feel nauseous all the time.

MOTHER

You promise?

FETUS (O.S.)

I promise. 

MOTHER

Oh thank god.

FETUS (O.S.)

Cause that’s around when I’ll start giving you heartburn and constipation instead.

MOTHER

But this is all going to be worth it in the end, right?

FETUS

The moment you hold me in your arms you will experience transcendent love and sublime happiness.

Mother smiles, stands, and walks down the street.

MOTHER

So, what would you like me to eat? 

FETUS (O.S.)

Veggie sandwich sounds great. And maybe a cookie?

MOTHER

Of course. What kind of cookie?

FETUS (O.S.)

Oatmeal raisin.

THE END

Ready For Parenthood?

The fact that I was able to figure out what this says has made me feel like maybe I am ready to be a parent. Or maybe I'm really immature. I can't tell. 

November 6 Prayer

Please please please please please please please don't let my baby be born in a Romney administration.

Please.

Amen.

Where's My God$%^m Glow?

Millions of women face morning sickness with an admirable stoicism and elegant determination, never revealing the extent of their suffering to others but rather enduring the twelve weeks of nausea, fatigue and headaches with the reserve and courage of Navy Seals.

I am not one of those women.

I am desperate to bitch and complain to anyone who will listen about how miserable I feel right now. How oddly my life has changed since being “diagnosed with a baby” a short time ago.

I’m 9 weeks pregnant and full pregnancies last 40 weeks, which, if you divide by 4, turns out to be 10 months rather than 9. (Apparently, some male doctor somewhere thinks women cannot do math.) I was willing to sign up for harboring a human parasite for 9 months, but 10?  That’s unreasonable. Of course, “they” want you to talk in weeks now anyway, and it turns out that “they” actually begin counting from the start of your last official period, rather than the day you conceived. So that’s kinda nice. Buy-38-weeks-get-2-free.

My morning sickness began precisely at week 6, and true to the rumors, everything makes me nauseous. Not just food and smells, but activities such as talking on the phone, using my electric toothbrush, taking hot showers and scrolling down my Twitter feed too quickly. I’m guessing the same doctor who claimed nine months instead of ten also came up with the term “morning” sickness, as it is actually an all-day/all-night, equal opportunity condition.

C-h-e-e-s-e (I can't say it out loud) makes me gag. It didn’t used to. At first, c-h-e-e-s-e was one of the things I could eat and enjoy. Then around week 8, a switch flipped and just the sight of my American cheddar sent me running for the toilet. A Kia painted an offensive shade of pea green in the parking lot at school made me gag. The drop of sweat on the side of my friend’s neck after she walked to my house to see how I was doing made me gag. Gagging a lot makes me gag.

And yet, despite the nausea, I’m starving!  Every few hours I get these pangs of hunger that snake through the pit of my stomach and make me feel as if my insides will self-digest. So I run to the kitchen where the sight of food …you guessed it…. makes me gag. I can’t leave the house without arming myself with multiple Baggies of bland foods such as pretzels, dry cereal, and yogurt.

And if one more person tells me to try saltines, I'm going to shoot myself. 

But the truth is, I always expected this would happen.  My mother made certain I knew from day one just how much she had suffered when she carried me, as if she were waiting for me to apologize for being such an inconvenient fetus.  Since I take after her in most things WOMAN, it made sense that I would face a similar fate with my pregnancy, or “payback” as she likes to call it.

What I didn’t expect was the complete and utter lack of motivation that has settled upon me like the storm cloud that hovers over the head of the grumpy character in a cartoon. Usually I am an active person who enjoys doing the annoying things health magazines recommend, such as taking the stairs instead of the elevator and walking to the store rather than driving. Now I find I don’t even want to get off my couch. I don’t want to make plans with friends. I don’t want to leave the house. Sometimes, I hate what I’m watching on TV but I don’t want to change the channel.

Yesterday, I took off my orange flannel pajamas and put on my blue flannel pajamas in order to keep things exciting for my poor husband.  Believe me, that’s about as exciting as it’s going to get for him for a while. But this is all his fault anyway.

I did manage to get a hair cut the other day. I told the woman to leave it just long enough for a “puke ponytail.”

I have four more weeks of this to go before the end of the first trimester, traditionally the time when morning sickness subsides. (Come to think about it, calling it “four weeks” does sound more manageable than saying “one month.” Maybe that’s why “they” recommend talking in weeks?) And every woman who has walked in my fuzzy slippers before promises me “It will all be worth it.”

Deep down, I know that. And I’m sure I will feel elated again shortly. But in the meantime, not wanting to have sex or a filet mignon, not wanting to take a road trip or hang out with friends, not wanting to shop or write, having no interest in many of the basics elements of life that are inherently "me" has been a rather jarring development that, quite frankly, makes me gag. 

And so it begins...

Well, here's the big announcement!

It's official: hell is freezing over. I am 81/2 weeks pregnant. I'm sorry for not announcing it on here sooner, like I said I would. But I admit I felt much more superstitious about letting it go public than I thought I would. Even now I'm a little nervous since the first trimester is such a fragile time. But I have so many emotions and thoughts that I need to write them down somewhere and this seems like the most appropriate place since that's exactly what I created the blog for in the first place. 

Here's the story: I tracked my ovulation last month just as I had done in July. Turns out I have a super long cycle, so I basically skipped August all together. The problem was that the day I got the happy face signifying that I was indeed ovulating, J ate bad scallops and came down with a terrible case of food poising. So we had pretty much written off the month. But it turns out that a little romp in the sack that we had enjoyed a few days before must have done the trick, thus confirming my friend AV's suspicions that good sex = fertilization. 

My period was due on September 18. On the 17th, I decided to take a test just for the hell of it. I sat it down on the counter and forgot to check out the results. Then, as J and I were chatting about something, I happened to glance down and see the word "Pregnant" out of the corner of my eye.

I gasped and pointed at the stick. J looked at it, too. And then we just stood there for two minutes staring at the stick, mouths open, not saying a word. 

One moment your having a nice morning pee and the next your life is changing forever.

Every thought, every action, every  since that moment has been permeated with the thought: oh my god we're having a baby. 

I need to go to the bank today. Oh my god we're having a baby.

The internet is running slowly. Oh my god we're having a baby.

We should go see a movie tonight. Oh my god we're having a baby.

We are, of course, thrilled. And terrified. And thrilled. 

More to come....LOTS more!!!