I honestly can’t say whether we’ve hit the food craving stage yet, because aside from a few cravings for favorites such as calamari ricardo from Carrabba’s, burgers and fries (and more important, dipping sauces) from Cheeburger Cheeburger, and a fairly perpetual need for chocolate of the dark persuasion, Megan’s appetite has been fairly normal. She has always been prone to cravings, and these are not unusual things for her to desire.
There is, however, one new thing we’re suddenly buying in bulk, and that is ginger ale, or as I have just started calling it, like, six minutes ago, “The Nectar of the Nauseous.”
Let me preface this by saying that Megan’s morning sickness has been mild (and not always confined to the morning hours). She has not, to my knowledge, full-on puked. But gagging abounds, usually brought on by aversions to certain smells, many of which are undetectable by normal humans.
And the only cure is more cowbell ginger ale.
As far as I know, though I could be misremembering, Megan had never drank ginger ale until about two weeks ago. Now she can’t get enough. She drinks it in the morning, afternoon and evening. We have gone through, if I recall correctly, six two-liter bottles and a 12-pack of cans in about two weeks.
I have developed a Pavlovian response mechanism that sends me scrambling to the refrigerator for a glass of the stuff every time I hear her gag, which happens like clockwork at 7 a.m. each morning.
And it seems to do the trick.
Wouldn’t it be something if solutions to the rest of life’s problems were readily available for 42 cents a liter?