Prenatals and Raviolis and Pizza, oh MY!

After the meltdown-activating sequence at the pharmacy on Monday, I finally got my prenatal supplements (plus DHA! So fancy) on Tuesday. Since then, my stomach has chilled out a minimum of 200%, bringing it down to about a 3 in intensity on the nausea scale. HOORAY! I can eat anything that involves starch and cheese together--most notably raviolis (of which I purchased three bags on Tuesday that are now 80% gone), but also grilled cheese sandwiches, and cheetos. Cheetos was just one of those baby lunch-sized baggies, and just one time, so don't worry--the baby won't come out with little orange fingers.


On Thursday, I actually felt amazing, and did normal things! I mowed the lawn, took down the Christmas lights (don't judge), and took a walk to the store for some fruit. The weather was scarily beautiful, so I made a point to be outside as much as I could. It was the most refreshing day I've had since I've been pregnant. When you feel like crap ALL THE TIME, you finally realize how nice it is to have a normal day. This is kind of weird, but it made me think about people who are on stuff like chemo, and are tired and sick all the time--my overly-empathetic hormones and I probably even cried about it.


So anyway, raviolis got me pretty far, but I began to tire of them after eating them for four days straight.


Friday night began what I am referring to as "The Great Pizza Streak". I order a large, veggie pizza from the place down the street. While I usually enjoy the olives, today they tasted like a nasty tin can, so after picking them off, it was as delicious as ever. I eat 3 of the four remaining slices (and pretty much nothing else) on Saturday, which keeps the grand majority of the queasies at bay. Sunday after church comes...


"Frank.."
"Yeah?"
"...I want pizza."
"Carla, we're NOT getting a pizza."
"WHY NOT?"
"We just HAD pizza."
"SO WHAT? YOU DON'T HAVE TO EAT IT."
"Carla...sighhh."


I throw something of a tantrum where I stomp/flail my feet around before getting out of the car. I have my best wrinkled pout on as I begin to whimper and whine to myself. There is some legitimate upset here. I have had a taste of feeling well this week. Pizza is a proven effective treatment for my sickness. I CANNOT eat another ravioli. Frozen pizza is not what I want, and Frank has identified $20 a pop pizzas from Bella Roma as "an expensive habit". Seeing my dismay, and clearly not wanting to hear me complain all day, Frank says something surprising:


"How about I make you pizza."


I am stunned and pleased with this initial statement, but am too soon overcome with a lack of instant gratification.


"THAT'S GONNA TAKE FOREVERRRRRR."


And it did take forever. I had to eat rotinis to tide me, and Frank became very frustrated with his second batch of dough by the fifth hour. (the first batch got cooked in the breadmaker on the incorrect setting). BUT. When all was said and done, that thing was delicious. Frank achieves a new level of sainthood, and I get my quota of cheesy starch once more.


The next day, I eat the leftovers, and Tuesday, I strike out on my own as the next great pizza maker. I look up the easiest recipes for breadmaker dough and pizza sauce, and with the help of the two-pound back of mozzarella cheese we picked up from costco (good call Frank), I made this little beauty:

The moral of this story is:
Give a girl a pizza, she'll eat for two days...teach a girl to pizza, and she may eat for nine whole months.

 This is awesome. Enjoy.