And the not so glorious

I’d heard the myth of your senses being heightened when you’re pregnant but I was pretty convinced that it wasn’t going to happen to me. For no other reason than my sense of smell is abominable and I figured it wasn’t about to improve. In fact I would be rather glad if it didn’t as I could use it (and have) as a convenient excuse not to change junior’s nappy- “Oh, does it, dear? My bad, you know how poor my sense of smell is. Thanks, darling!” etc

So walking up the stairs to our flat one night at about week 18, I was quite surprised to find myself gagging at the god awful smell that was wafting out from the kitchen. I couldn’t go near the room (and no, it was not an excuse to avoid cooking). It was awful for weeks- the kitchen door had to be shut and the window open if we (he!) was cooking. If I was in the lounge, the door had to be shut and I kept spray near my bedside so I didn’t have to smell it at night.

At my wits end, I finally got Better Half to empty the entire fridge. Every last iota of food. And scrub the shelves clean. I could still smell it. This festering, putrid, overwhelming smell… of garlic. Hideous, disgusting, vomit inducing. I would spend evening after evening begging Better Half not to buy anything with garlic in it, not to cook with garlic, and please, oh please, search the kitchen high and low and remove any last tiny flake, crumb, slice or drop of the stuff.

And then he found it. THe last fragment of garlic that had repulsed me so much I had to sit behind two closed doors every evening. “Look what I”ve found!” he proudly proclaimed coming out of the kitchen and wafting it under my nose. I threw up instantly. It was as I fled to put my head down the loo for the 181st time that he realised I hadn’t been making it up. And he finally threw it in the (neighbour’s) bin.

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