"How are you!! I haven't asked in a little while so HOW ARE YOU?"
"Good. And it is fine that you haven't asked because everyone else has." All the time. A lot.

Like they just can't wait for me to burst into tears, or throw up, or complain about swollen feet, or grab them by the lapels and shake them until they bring me Levain Bakery cookies topped with kimchi.

Really, I'm good.

I threw up twice. Once because I didn't eat within fifteen minutes of waking up, in the first trimester; once because I don't know. I haven't had any cravings or mood swings or noticed my body doing anything but growing a bump around the midsection. (My doctor felt my calves yesterday and was like, "You're just bones, aren't you?" And my blood pressure continues to be borderline-dead.)

If I'm not good, I'll tell you. Or or I won't, because it's none of your business. So thanks for the concern but let's just go back to nodding in the hall as we pass, and maybe the occasional "S'up?" -- without the eyebrow wiggling and meaning to your inquiries about my wellbeing.

RECIPE: Cabbage & Feta Pie. I've always associated cabbage with Eastern Europe and a kind of grey desperation, but then my CSA gave us some and I made this pie and it was, as R would say, bloody fantastic.