Topsy-Turvy

My world's turned upside down.

When Packrat and I were still dating, he used to float this idea of coordinating schedules with all his friends as to when to impregnante their wives. It wasn't a Boys From Brazil meets Gattaca idea. It was more that they were fascinated with the idea that pregnant women craved for strange food at strange hours. So their plan was to actually delegate different husbands to stock different varieties of food in their fridges, in case of a midnight craving emergency that Fedex wasn't going to be able to deliver on time. And all the girlfriends/ wives basically added fuel to the fire by tossing up impossible to get food items even though most of them sounded gross. My suggestion was something so far removed from my regular dietary preferences, it was funny. And it had the added advantage of being alliterative- which is always good. . I had told Packrat that my choice of pregnancy craving food was going to be Yaks' milk from Yemen. I thought it was a good choice because pregnancy craving is supposed to be weird and it doesn't get any weirder than yak's milk from Yemen. Especially for me, the psychologically lactose intolerant, averse to anything that smells vaguely dairy.

That led to years of speculation of what I would eat or crave for during the hormonally imbalanced, logic challenged 10 months of pregnancy. Packrat fantasised about a meat devouring wife. He also fantasised about knowing that I was pregnant when I asked him to take me for chilli crab.

Well, none of that has happened. To date, I have a vague distaste for any sort of food, especially Chinese food. I don't crave anything although food that is tasty and salty seems to rank slightly higher than bland food. So, the mere mention of the formerly staple bland food like fish soup, yong tau hu now put a look of rude revulsion on my face. Packrat quipped that the day I gave up fish balls, my all time comfort food, would be the day he would know for sure that the chicken was indeed in the pot and cooking.

Today was such a day. I was presented with fish balls in what would normally be tasty scallop and abalone based soup and I couldn't. I just couldn't make myself eat it. It was a weird sensation. The brain was trying to convince me that I could eat it, that it was yummy but my stomach recoiled the way it usually does with anything with dairy in it. Thankfully it hasn't quite gotten to the point where I'd rather dairy than fish balls. Right now, they're just on par. The day when dairy becomes more appealing, I think I will just spend the entire day in bed because I wouldn't trust myself to be able to stand up right.

Because by then, the world would have indeed become topsy-turvy and I might fall off my bed on the ceiling onto the floor.

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