Pregnancy has made me useless. Well, more useless than usual. I'd rather veg out watching reality TV reruns (hey listening to NeNe talk shiz is entertaining stuff) than do... anything. That means that dinners have become not-so-exciting around here. Combine weeks of nausea with said laziness and you'll get a lot of cereal and mac n cheese nights. But I'm getting better, and cooking more lately. I made fajitas this week.
I sauteed onions. After I had to trim and slice raw chicken. Which makes me want to vomit when NOT pregnant, so imagine my disdain with doing this now. And then the smell of cooking chicken flesh? Ugh... don't even get me started.
And then I went out into my garden to harvest, then grind, all my spices... or I just purchased a packet of fajita seasoning, added it to my chicken, and decided it wasn't that good. Thus reinforcing the fact that my taste buds are jacked up beyond all recognition. What? You thought this was going to be a homegrown, clean-eating type of post? Sorry to disappoint. I'm pregnant, remember?
I did have to involve some effort to chop some veggies. A welcome sight these days for this veggie lover who couldn't touch ANY OF THEM for weeks! Tomatoes and lettuce, I missed you!
And then I made some guacamole. Because life just isn't complete without guacamole. I used this handy meat-mashing tool I bought at a Pampered Chef party that actually comes in handy for lots of other stuffs. It's my favorite kitchen utensil, hands down. But could also be used as a weapon.
We then ate dinner, where the chicken proceeded to make me feel ill so I ate some fajitas with just veggies and guac. This new picky-eating thing I have going on is really a drag.
So, there you have it. I made dinner twice this week --once included mac n cheese so this was quite the feat. Maybe I'll do it again some time. Or maybe I'll just have cereal and tell the two men in my house that they're on their own, just like every day.
Oh and the cats, they ate their usual can-shaped meat. At a decent time, I might add, rather than the usual oh-shit-I-didn't-feed-the-cats moment, wherein my baby daddy does it for me because I've since become one with the couch.
Kitties eating, toms sparkling, and belly intruding. It was a happy day, indeed.
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