The baby is now fussing. I think the wasabi I mistakenly ate last night on the sushi Greg made has made its’ way into my breast milk. Greg makes sushi about once a year within a week of getting together with our Korean friends. He spends the better part of our visit having them explain to him how to make the best sushi possible and adds all of the ingredients to my grocery list for that week. He prepared the sushi while I was at my second swimming lesson of the day yesterday and in typical Greg fashion, slopped the hottest tube of wasabi onto his finger and smeared 1000 times too much across the rice which burned into the shrimp that lay nervously on top. I shoved an entire piece into my mouth before looking anything over with my usual, careful eye. Before I chewed, I knew I was in trouble as the back of my throat began to burn. I made my way over to the sink and knew that water couldn’t possibly put out the fire that had engulfed my brain. I grabbed some nearly dehydrated cucumber slices that had returned in Hanna’s school lunch bag uneaten that were supposed to be in the composter and crammed them down my throat.