This morning, as we’d run out of butter and bananas (two important parts of our breakfast staple), I had to improvise and so went for one of S’s early pregnancy favourites — cauliflower soup.
Yeah, I know the idea of cauliflower soup for breakfast curls the hairs, but these here are desperate times.
So as S plonked down in front of the tv for another dose of madness and mayhem courtesy of the BBC I strolled out of the kitchen with a tray holding my coffee, S’s juice and two bowls of steaming cauliflower soup sprinkled with cracked Kampot black pepper and parmesan.
S feigned pleasure then confided that she wasn’t sure if she could stomach something like cauliflower soup for breakfast, but decided to give it a go anyway.
Soon she no longer needed to feign pleasure and admitted to the soup being quite tasty, and I have to admit I agreed with her — with me finishing off my bowl lickedly split.
It was quite fortunate I gorged myself, as no sooner had I finished my bowl than S lurched across the table, grabbed my bowl and threw up into it.
Yes, you read that right — S vomitted into my breakfast bowl (and also into a bucket I dashed off to get, but as I hadn’t just eaten out of the bucket, I wasn’t so bothered about that).
Her first words post-spew?
“Baby don’t like cauliflower.”
Cauliflower soup sounds revolting for breakfast – haven’t you heard of weetbix or vegemite on toast? One question though, why didn’t she throw up in her own bowl?
By the way, bananas are $13.99 a kilo here, so you would have to rethink breaky down here too, unless you were very rich.
I hurled into his bowl first because it was LICKED EMPTY and THEN into mine and THEN into the bucket. Mine still had some fresh soup in it, I guess I thought I might finish it after my little vom.
Do you lot mind, I haven’t had dinner yet!!!