Post Vegan/Pre Pregnancy

My 6 month experiment has come and gone, the time I set aside for it anyways. I dream of bloody steak sometimes, but my love and desire to jump in a swimming pool full of goat cheese has passed. Fuck cheese. For now, maybe.  Sarah hates and has hated every minute of my vegan challenge. She has since explained the many ways in which it affects her too, however, it does remain my body and if I don't feel good putting something trivial into it, then I won't. And I won't feel bad about it either. For once in my life, I have a reasonably good relationship with food.


My memories of food in general have not been that positive. When I lived with my Dad and his 2nd wife, they would serve us our meal plates and we had to eat everything on them before we could leave the table. Oh, you don't like brussel sprouts, "your not leaving this table until that plate is spotless". Oh, I gave you 4 cups of mashed potatoes and your already full, "your not leaving this table until that plate is spotless."  When their heads would turn, you had 3 seconds to feed all you could to the 2 dogs drooling under the table. However, they couldn't stand brussel sprouts anymore than I could.  Or, you could ask to leave the table to go to the bathroom, and after being granted permission like a fucking prisoner, stuff your mouth without being noticed, run to the bathroom and spit it in the toilet. Growing up with 5 other kids allowed for the advantage of not being noticed.

Still to this day, I find myself wanting to be unnoticed.

Another memory of food was donuts.  My mothers 8 year relationship with a perverted, alcoholic, mentally compromised, physically abusive boyfriend use to take me to a donut shop every Friday. We would get a dozen donuts to bring home. Chocolate eclairs and lemon filled powered sugar coated donuts, were my favorite. I would eat as many as I could, make myself throw up, and eat as many as I could, and maybe throw up once more. I also remember my Mom making chocolate eclairs once in a while, I did not abuse them however, because my mother had made them, I cherished them.  Much loved staples were  Banquet $. 99 chicken pot pies, TV dinners and spagettio's.  If my mom made it, even just microwaved it, chances are I loved it.

Still to this day, I find myself wanting to throw up.

Onto good, the fertility tracker we call "The Robot", was received in the mail and am excited to start using it. It may be the only time in my life where I'm waiting with excitement to start my period. On that day "The Robot" and I get engaged, and she begins to learn my cycle. Our plan is to start inseminating at the end of July. Course it may take more than one cycle for "The Robot" to learn, so this may get pushed to the end of August. Although it's been years of waiting, I can wait another month to get pregnant. I refuse to use a known donor so as expensive as the price of sperm is, we want those 2 guaranteed fertility days. The possibilities are so fucking exciting. Some people dream of a career, some people dream of meeting their "soul mate" and getting married, I dream of birthing a healthy, adorable baby.