When the toast has burned and the milk has turned

One of my least favorite parts of staying at other people’s houses is navigating the breakfast mine field. Breakfast may be the most important meal of the day, but it’s also the most difficult for me.

Let’s start with the easy stuff. Scrambled eggs. Hate ’em. I used to love them, but somewhere along the way the smell really started getting to me. I very rarely eat scrambled eggs, and then it’s only because I really really feel like I need the protein or because someone puts them on my plate and my mama raised me to be polite. I had a friend whose house I hated to stay at, because her mom would spoon up tons of eggs on my plate and I’d have to force them down. So I’d eat them first, saving the delicious things like bacon and toast for later, and she’d think that meant I wanted more. Bleh. The only eggs I can abide eating are over medium. And I like hard boiled eggs in egg salad and devilled eggs. And almost every time Mike makes them, I try a bite, because I’m trying to like them. (So far, it’s not working.)

I like cereal okay, especially with fruit, but when I eat it, I am hungry again in an hour, and I have cut back on so many starchy things that I would really rather not start the day with something that’s going to make me crash in just an hour or so. Same with pancakes and waffles. They honestly aren’t my favorite (except maybe for snow days), but I can eat them. The problem is that the whole time I’m eating them, I’m thinking how they’re going to sit in my stomach and make me feel heavy for hours, and I’m just going to need to eat again soon. I used to eat a lot of potato-type things, but again, since I have cut back on a lot of starches, I don’t really like to eat hash browns (or tots) first thing in the morning and get hungry again before lunch. And I don’t eat toast much anymore, either.

I love bacon and sausage (patties not links), and I will even eat fried liver mush. I just have to have protein in the morning to get me through until lunch. I used to just eat an apple or banana or toast or something, but it wouldn’t last.

Lately, I have been eating half a granny smith apple and some cheddar cheese for breakfast. I would eat bacon or sausage every morning if I could, and some fruit to go with it. I feel like these are good choices (okay, not the bacon/sausage, but it’s not really all that easy to get protein in the mornings) and I don’t usually get hungry before my lunchtime at 1:00.

The reason I’m thinking about all this is because I hate to be picky. I hate it. And so, if you put those things in front of me, I’m probably going to eat them without complaint, but I will not enjoy it. I don’t want to make a big deal about my likes and dislikes, because I don’t like to think of myself as picky. Picky means being disagreeable, and I like to be as agreeable as possible [read: so people will like me].

Okay, so here’s some honesty. The real reason I’m thinking about this is because one morning last week my aunt and uncle made eggs and a bunch of other stuff and when they were serving them up, they asked if I wanted eggs and I said, “No, thank you,” and they seemed shocked. My response to this was one of chagrin (I hate making people upset) and frustration (I haven’t regularly eaten eggs in years, so it’s not a surprise). It made me feel bad, both that they had made these eggs for me and that I didn’t want them. It really did feel like a mine field, and I wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

Here’s some more honesty: since I don’t like these things, I think that one day I’ll be a bad mom, because I don’t really know how to cook things like eggs (and, ew, standing that close to the smell makes my stomach turn just thinking about it) and pancakes. I want to be a good mom. Good moms make eggs.

I wish I liked eggs.

Mike and I joke that when I get pregnant, all I will crave is scrambled eggs, day and night. hehe.

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