So. It turns out that pregnant-me might not actually be a vegetarian.

Not even a seriously lapsed veggie would eat ostrich burgers on a Saturday night, ostrich bolognaise on a Monday night, and have ostrich leftovers on the Tuesday for lunch, right? Not even by my flexitarian standards.

In my defence, it seems the only thing that has agreed with me since I contracted the Vicious Virus of Doom about a week ago is ostrich mince. I’m not allowed dairy, green vegetables, or raw vegetables until I’ve recovered. So after a few days on the BRA diet I branched out to Marmite on toast and from there, it was a slippery slope to munching on bits of dead animal.

The Shrimp likes it. That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

Which leads me to one of the reasons I think pregnancy is awesome – it’s the best excuse for antisocial and inconsistent behaviour. Like, if you want to lie on your couch in tatty tracksuit pants, eating marshmallows and watching the box set of Fawlty Towers while painting each of your toenails a different colour on a Saturday night, nobody’s going to think you’re depressed or that you suddenly don’t like your friends. Or if you start bringing meaty sandwiches to work for lunch, when, for the past year and a half, you’ve denounced the eating of animals thanks to Jonathan Safran Foer’s book, nobody will think you’re a hypocrite. Hopefully. *Gulp*]



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  1. Elise

     /  October 21, 2011

    I’m not judging and no one else will either 🙂 It’s all about listening to your body.

  2. Thanks, Lise! That’s a relief. Bodies are notoriously unreliable when it comes to urges (smokers and Coca-Cola addicts come to mind) but I just don’t have it in me to fight mine at the moment!


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