I'm at the stage of my pregnancy where there's barely even any point in calculating in days or weeks how far it will be to reach the end of this gestation. All you need to know is that I have been pregnant forever, and will remain pregnant forever. I am 'screaming at strangers from my car window'-weeks pregnant. Suffice to say, this baby will be facing eviction shortly if it's not willing to make a graceful exit soon.
I'm at the stage of pregnancy where if something I need falls to the floor, I feel a palpable sense of grief, mourn the item and then move on, accepting that it's gone forever. You see, if I try to go down there after it, it's debatable whether or not I will ever regain uprightness.
The last time I risked it all for a dropped item (it was a tasty morsel of sausage from the delicious recipe, right), I tried to get back up, only to flail weakly, before running aground on my side on the floor. A tragic moment, frankly.
Of course every cloud, yada-yada-yada, and one marked upside of my 100 years of pregnancy is the 100 years of solitude I am now enjoying in the sleeping stakes. I have slowly and steadily edged Himself out of the bed, all the way out of our bedroom, and down to the couch in my office.
The bed is now mine, largely because I have become such a volatile and unpleasant room-mate. By the end, Himself probably struggled to decide in which state I was more unpleasant: awake or asleep. Awake, I am moaning endlessly about my various aches and pains; while asleep, I am snoring, highly resistant to anyone attempting to move me, and liable to lash out if they try.
The 'solo bed' stage of pregnancy is most welcome, especially because thus far in our relationship, it's always been Himself who has been the real horror show in the sleep department.
He is a teeth-grinder which, on paper, sounds harmless - after all, teeth-grinding suggests pressure, but of a focused, perhaps quiet kind, contained to the inside of a person's mouth. Not so. The teeth-grinding sounds like a rabid dog attacking machinery, and when coupled with his penchant for sleeping with his eyes partially open, the overall effect is very zombie apocalypse.
Even after more than a decade together, it's hard to not freak out when I'm confronted in the middle of the night by this gormless, wild-eyed creature snapping at me from the other side of the bed.
Of course, all going well, soon I'll be joined in the bed by a new creature snapping its jaws in the night. While I've always loved sleeping with my babies, it can be like sharing a bed with a cuddly piranha.
Serves 2 generously
You will need:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 red onion, finely sliced
6 good-quality sausages
80g chorizo, diced
1 clove garlic, sliced
1 teaspoon rosemary
½ teaspoon fennel seeds
100ml white wine
1 x 400g tin chopped tomatoes
2 tablespoons mascarpone cheese
1 x 400g tin cannellini beans
2-4 slices sourdough bread
1 Put the olive oil in a large pot over a medium-to-high heat, and add the finely sliced red onion and the sausages. Stir for about 5-10 minutes until the onion has softened and the sausages have a little colour on them. Add the diced chorizo, and cook for a further five minutes, stirring to prevent anything sticking to the bottom of the pan.
2 Add the sliced garlic, the rosemary and the fennel seeds, and increase the heat for a final minute, then pour in the white wine to deglaze the pot. Add the tinned chopped tomatoes, and simmer for a couple of minutes, then add the mascarpone.
3 Drain the tinned cannellini beans, and stir them into the sauce. Serve with the slices of sourdough bread.
Sunday Indo Life Magazine