There are a few things I miss when pregnant. I miss a ice cold pilsner on a hot day. The full bouquet of an well balanced cabernet savigion. The crisp, acidic flavor of a well chilled savignion blanc. Even the syrupy sweet nearly effervescent flavor of an ice wine. Tequilla, oh how I love it straight up or mixed in a margarita on the rocks with a salted rim and lots of spicy Mexican food. I miss these things when I am pregnant but I can easily live without, the hubs is welcome to enjoy without me and in front of me, no big deal.
My husband is welcome to enjoy a bike ride, roller blade (though I don’t see him doing that, ever), roller skate, ride a roller coaster. Not a big deal for him to do so in front of me, I enjoy said activities but I can live without. I know I will get to enjoy soon enough, no big deal.
There is but one thing my husband isn’t to enjoy in my presence when I am with child, one thing alone and that is sushi. I have given him the death look when he even mentions sashimi in my presence. My mouth begins to water and I end up having those vivid pregnancy hormone induced dreams about a beautifully large serving of Ahi sashimi, salmon, octopus, yellow tale. I wake up drooling and frustrated and annoyed with the world as I have to resist the craving, the need of having the tender decadent sea flavored raw fish.
Well, part of my recovery and my celebration after having major surgery and having my child no longer in my womb but in my arms I get to enjoy a huge helping of sashimi. I begin to plan my attack of this plate ode to raw fish a month before my child’s estimated due date, how I plan to inhale and hopefully recall my first taste of rich, fatty fish.
Editors Note: I would have a beautiful stock image of the actual sashimi she ate, but I dare not stand between her and her fish! When I encounter my first sushi experience after having my child it is a frenzied whirl wind of fish, soy sauce, wasabi, and pickled ginger. I try to admire my beautiful plate with an glorious assortment of colors so vibrant, I try to sip my miso and gaze at my prey to enjoy the pure anticipation of my meal. Then I attack, trying to enjoy each note of each type of sea food on my plate, comparing and contrasting the texture difference. Then I hit a euphoric point when all goes silent and silky textures, salty flavors, combined with the sweet flavor of fish. Then before I know it my little romance is over and I long for more. But for a while I sit back and smile like the cat ate the canary and recall the glorious first to last bite and consider the next time my passionate, frenzied rendezvous will be with sushi.
