Today I put them on.
I decided that it had been long enough. I mean, twenty-eight is pretty old to still be harboring hesitation. So, I put aside my long-standing issues. I gathered my confidence. And I did it…
I ate fish.
See, this all started last weekend. I read in my Pregnancy Propaganda that my baby is drinking amniotic fluid. AND that studies show that the baby’s first introduction to different foods is now. What I eat can affect my kid’s tastes for life. Almost immediately we went to Sam’s. Victor and I stocked up on salad, frozen veggies, and tilapia. No way my baby is going to be addicted to junk food.
Since then, I’ve been figuring out how to do it. I mean, my knowledge of fish comes in two forms: tuna in a can and tuna in a pouch. I’ve been known to drown my fish in ketchup to mask the taste and not offend the cook (guessing he saw through that though…) I avoid the smell and various Mexican fishy dishes like nobody’s business. But all that changed today.
It happened today because yesterday I received my blood tests from the doctor telling me that I have some anemia. I am on this quest to have a healthy little Meximerican, and therefore–my big-girl pants are really Mama-pants. I will eat whatever necessary for my baby.
And…It wasn’t bad.
Granted, I used butter to cook it. I used garlic, salt and pepper. AND I made tartar sauce. But…it wasn’t bad.
I also scored MAJOR brownie points with my husband, who I think is getting tired of chicken, and chicken, and veggies, and chicken. “Thank you for cooking fish!” he said (too) enthusiastically. No problem, honey. After all, what I am cooking on the inside is my first concern. The fact that both members of my family seem happy (baby is doing a little dance of approval) is just an added bonus!
This girl is growing up. It has only taken twenty-eight years for that to happen…