All writers in Op Ed are here to inform and acknowledge issues of importance to our communities, however these writings represent the views and opinions of the authors and not necessarily of The Advertiser. 

Linda Nidiffer

I don’t know how to be discreet about this.  I think I am pregnant again.  Like all the women in my family one of the ways to determine pregnancy was the “gag” factor.  My poor mother gagged through nine months.  Just the thought of food and its smell was enough to start her gagging.  I remember vividly going to the grocery store with her at this time.  We took a bucket into the store because mom was sure to need it.  What a mess!  But like my mother the thought of some foods makes me gaggy.  The thought of drinking a glass of milk sets up my gag reflex—and I love milk! Heaven help me if something smells “off” or sour!

The next sure sign of fecundity is the craving of odd foods.  When I carried my daughter I craved eggs which Tom dutifully cooked for me.  He would bring them to me and I would race to the bathroom.  He ate so many scrambled eggs at the other end of the house!  Now I am craving oranges.  For the last 30 years anything citrus would trigger a migraine, but not now.  I am eating two a day with a clear head and patting myself on the back for eating healthier.  

The healthy oranges are balancing my craving for potato chips—the saltier the better.  Usually I don’t eat salt.  I certainly never cook with it, but in the last few months I will eat a whole family sized bag in one sitting.  The chip aisle in the grocery store starts sending me the Siren song as I approach from the parking lot.  I also crave salads! I am allergic to most green food but lately I have made myself a salad for dinner two or three times a week.  Maybe I am craving the blue cheese dressing and I just need a conduit for that.  

I am also nest building.  I am rearranging my routines, closets and even the attic.  If it doesn’t bring me joy or I haven’t used it in the last two years out it goes.  I am longing for new paint colors and new furniture.  I might get totally out of control and think about new window coverings.  I don’t usually care about what my nest looks like as long as it is “cleanish”, neat and tidy.  I usually have my nose in a book and my nest is in my peripheral vision so who cares that the sofa is faded?

I cognitively know that I am not pregnant with a child.  I am way too old for that kind of nonsense but something is brewing.  Perhaps I am taking this pause to figure out who I am going to be when I grow up; maybe I am just busy figuring out how to be alone for the first time in my life.  Maybe the signs of pregnancy are nothing important. Who knows?