Most folks already know that my favorite food in the world is raw fish. In fact, most meats that have a raw or rare option tend towards the higher spots on my “preferred food” list. So of course when I fell pregnant, it was pretty tough giving those things up.

I complained constantly about it, because I never developed any distaste for raw fish the entire time I was pregnant. I debated constantly about the actual benefits vs the actual risks to anyone foolish enough to let me talk about it. I never did, for the record, have any of the stuff while pregnant. The risks weren’t worth it. But I did reserve the right to complain about it.

One of the aspects of my birth plan was to have raw oysters and sashimi for my first meal after the baby arrived. A glass of bubbles, too (specifically, the champagne Blake and I had at our wedding, courtesy of my uncle and a French boutique champagne-maker). It was all planned out. It was going to be amazing holding my baby while enjoying some of my favorite foods.

Since the miscarriage, the mere thought of eating raw fish makes me burst into tears. I can’t bring myself to eat it. I love the stuff, but it also feels wrong to enjoy something that I wasn’t supposed to be able to eat until next year. It feels like it would be a betrayal to the baby’s memory to not only eat it, but to enjoy it. I mean, if I really missed the baby, if I was really sad, then I wouldn’t (shouldn’t) enjoy it. Right?

The irony is that food has a very significant place in my life. It’s how I was raised. Good food is to be enjoyed, bringing a smile to your actual soul. Nostalgic foods bring you back to another time, to memories, people you love, and places you’ve been. Food is love.

So even though having a food I enjoy would certainly be a huge comfort, sashimi (and the like) specifically takes me back to a place before I was pregnant. I’m not ready for that. Maybe I will be again soon, but it’s honestly not a high priority right now. It might be worth simply sitting with this particular conflict for the time being, as a way to validate my grief.