Week 10, Day 3. Tuesday. Brooklyn. Productive Em is back at her desk, except the smell of coffee just made her run for the bathroom.
Okay can we talk about coffee for a second.
I had a plan today. The logo redesign needs to ship Friday and yesterday I finally cracked it — warm letterforms, restrained palette, the corporate-but-not-stiff thing the client kept asking for. I went to bed feeling like a designer again. I set my alarm for 7. I was excited.
And then 7:15 happened.
7:15 AM, the kitchen
Jake was making espresso. The same noise he's made every morning for four years. Gurgle, hiss, and then his voice from the kitchen — "morning, Em" — the way he always says it.
I was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on a sock. The sound was fine.
Then the smell came up the hallway.
I'm not gonna lie — I bolted. Bathroom. Closed the door. Sat on the floor. Nothing happened — no actual sickness — just my whole body saying no, no, no in that particular way it does now.
7:38 AM, the bathroom floor
Pre-pregnancy me would not understand this email.
Pre-pregnancy me used to walk to Devoción in Williamsburg every Saturday morning. Single-origin Colombian. I would smell it through the paper bag on the walk home and tell Jake "this is what serotonin smells like." I had a Pinterest board called Coffee Mood. I am not kidding.
And now I am sitting on the bathroom floor, 8 weeks of progesterone deep, and the smell of my own husband's espresso is making me want to leave the apartment.
How does this happen. Where does the love go.
8:30 AM, Jake on the balcony
I came out eventually. Brushed my teeth twice. Drank a glass of water. Tried to look like a person.
Jake was already moving the espresso machine — I watched him from the hallway. He carried it to the small table by the balcony door, plugged it back in, didn't say anything about it. Then he looked up and said "I'll just do it out here from now on. The light's better anyway."
The light is not better out there. He knows. He just doesn't make me say it.
He poured himself a fresh shot, opened the balcony door, and stepped outside. The smell stayed where it was supposed to. He waved at me through the glass.
I made tea. Earl Grey. Bergamot is a strong smell too — somehow my body has decided this one is allowed. The hormones do not show their work.
11:00 AM, back to the logo
Three productive hours. The brief came together. I sent the client a draft at 1:47 PM and she wrote back at 2:09 with one line: "yes — exactly this. small tweaks tomorrow."
That's a Friday-shipping logo right there. I closed the laptop. I felt like a person who finishes things.
4:00 PM, the walk
I went out for air around four. Bedford Ave. Walked past a coffee shop I used to love. Got within maybe ten feet of the door and turned around like I'd remembered something on the stove. I had not.
It's strange to lose a smell you loved. It's not sad exactly — Jake is still Jake, the apartment is still our apartment, the espresso machine is still running, just on a different table. Nothing has actually been taken from me. But something I used to lean toward, I now lean away from. And I can't tell yet if that's a one-trimester thing or a forever thing.
I'll find out, I guess.
9:30 PM, dinner debrief
Jake made roasted vegetables and chicken thighs. (No alliums. He's been quietly editing his cooking. I notice. I still haven't said it.) Over dinner I told him about the bathroom floor moment and he laughed — not at me, the way he laughs when something is true and small at the same time.
"Coffee Mood," he said. "You really had a board."
"I really did."
"Maybe Prune is just protecting you from your own taste."
I laughed. Then I thought about it for a second, and laughed again.
—
Goodnight, prune.
Sorry about the coffee.