Some Abominably Crummy Things by venitha

There are undoubtedly some good things about being pregnant in Singapore, and when I'm not busy feeling so abominably crummy, I might actually notice them. In the meantime, however, here are some abominably crummy things about being pregnant in Singapore:

• This is so not a good place to be big. With its naturally-stick-thin native population, Singapore is a terrible place to be overweight, and I look far more overweight at this point than pregnant. In the interest of full disclosure, I admit that I did grow up in Wisconsin, where there is perhaps too much tolerance of living large, but I've also enjoyed the spandex climes of California and the fit-for-fun terrain of Colorado, and I've never lived anywhere that an overweight person, let alone a mere normal-sized Western woman with such apparently-undesirable body parts as hips, muscles, and internal organs, is treated so disrespectfully. And don't get me started on...
  
  
• What the $#@%! am I going to wear?
  
  
• Lack of bland. Now I love spicy just as much as, if not significantly more than, the next gal, but the thought of chilli crab or beef rendang when I'm already nauseous is enough to push me over the edge. And after I've been such a good sport about the food here for the last 18 months (Okay, I admit I haven't been a good sport about the durian; now please excuse me while I go throw up), it's downright cruel that the plain and boring snacks that might settle my queasy stomach are hard to come by and are buried amidst all those bags of really unappetizing prawn crackers.
  
  Triscuits? Sure! Here's the rye version.
  
  Wheatables? We've got 'em: herb and onion flavor.
  
  Pretzels? Omigosh, Snyder's! Good grief! Jalapeno pretzels?
  
  Even the Saltines at my local Cold Storage are a mutant no-salt variety. Like people who buy MSG in bulk from grocery stores that devote more shelf space to soy sauce than to chocolate are worried about their sodium intake.
  
  
• Oh, man, that smell! No way around it, Singapore is one rank place, and how did I live this long not knowing that pregnancy makes you more sensitive to odors? My days have become one long olfactory assault, from the sweaty guy here to repair the fountain (of course, I smell like fresh daisies myself) to the raw fish fumes of the wet market, from the Indian curries wafting from the open air restaurants to the prawn crackers I have to dig behind. Oh, man, that smell!
  
  
• The fine for vomiting on the MRT. Actually, I have no idea. Hey! There you go: something good. Thank God.

venitha