E is for ... Eggs

I'm not a huge fan of eggs but it hasn't always been so. As a first-time expectant mother, I craved eggs. I would go home from work, cook myself an omelette, eat it with enjoyment, and then promptly bring it all up again. I did this night after night after night.

You would think that I would've learnt.

Since Son#1's birth, I've never really enjoyed eating eggs. I'll have them if they're served up to me, but often I'll just pass. Meals on Sunday nights are traditionally "help yourself to whatever you can find in the pantry/refrigerator and feel like eating" type meals. Often - especially as our sons have gotten older and more proficient in the kitchen - this has included eggs. Often too, the person cooking has offered to cook for other family members. If this has included eggs, I usually decline. Not always, but most times.

I buy 2-1/2 dozen eggs at a time and they can still be there a month later. Apart from baking, I never think to use them. Why is it then, that I occasionally dream about having our own chickens? Let's face it: what would I do with all the eggs except to hoard them and make the occasional pavlova or hair conditioner?


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