Trashed

Two things you won't find in my kitchen: frozen peas and sage. What do I have against them? Let's just say they evoke certain memories-memories that, unlike the feel of Baker's achingly soft cheeks and fuzzy head, I would rather not remember. I read somewhere, perhaps Glow in the Woods, that producing milk to nourish a baby that my body did not know was dead "sucks eternal suckitude". Let me be clear-there is no magic drug for ending lactation. One must wait it out. So at the advice of my midwife, my creative mother came up with new and interesting ways to incorporate sage into my diet. Sage on green beans, vegetable soup with sage, sage in my oatmeal (OK, that last one is not true). Chris special-ordered sage tea from a natural foods store, and I dutifully choked it down. Six bags of frozen peas were put in rotation between two tight sports bras. My days went something like this: insert two bags before bed, fall asleep eventually, wake up to smell of warm mushy peas, gag, return peas to freezer, insert frozen peas, repeat for 7 days.

I trashed the bags of mushy peas long ago, but recently discovered the sage tea bags in the cupboard. In the trash they went, but not before asking Chris to witness my little ceremony of defiance. I'm taking the chance that I will never need them again.