Today's a cold wet day in Richmond, Virginia. I did my best and packed my lunch of broccoli, rye Wasa Crisp crackers, sardines and some cantaloupe. But I just wasn't feeling it... and I have the tell-tale-twitch in my throat which indicates that Sadie's cold has shockingly spread from her nose to my hand that holds the Kleenex for her to blow her nose. So I went to Wendy's instead, for the first time in the month that I have been working here. I got a kid's meal which was pretty good (I insist on no-HFCS ketchup at home and had forgotten how good plain old Heinz tastes).
But after lunch, I felt like I needed something sweet and unfortunately, turned to what has become a daily jaunt to the vending machines on the 2nd floor of my building for what has become a daily intake of a rice krispie treat.
So I slid in my dollar and pushed the buttons and the twistie thing twists and twists and low and behold, my rice krispie treat gets stuck in the last twist of the twistie thing, hanging precariously inside the machine. I look at it and for a moment I actually ask myself (inside my head) "Is this a sign that I am not supposed to eat this crap and start choosing health now??" But before I really give myself any time to answer my own question, I lean into the machine with my right shoulder and give it a shove. Yes, 41 year old mother lawyer in a dress and heels decides to shoulder-butt the vending machine without barely a pause. And what happens?
The twistie thing actually gives about 5 new twists, so both my original paid for rice krispie treat comes out and it is followed by a SECOND ONE. Gratis! A free treat. And then for about a split second, I ask myself (inside my head) "Is this a sign that I am supposed to have both?" And before I give myself time to answer my own question, I pick both up in my hands and hightail it back to my office.
And here I sit with the extra treat left. I ate the first one upon sitting down here, but the second one has given me pause.
I think I have been been on some sort of diet for the last 30 years or so. And I have always been trying to lose what dietitians now have termed "vanity pounds". These are the pounds that squarely put you in the overweight category on the weight charts but fall short of the "obese" range. Sometimes I actually believe that I would rather be in the obese range so it would become more obvious that these need to be lost, instead of it just being a smart option. Kind of like when our nanny discovered she has Type 1 diabetes last year and she immediately tracked everything she ate and made smart choices, so she could use the right amount of insulin. For her it became a matter of life or death. But for me, it is really a matter of between a size 4 and a size 6 in most pairs of pants. Who cares what the scale says, I will tell myself, if I can still wear a size 4 in Talbot's pants. And if I can't, or if a 6 in another brand feels snug... I just don't buy the pants. Yes, that is the mature thing to do... Instead of boycotting the food that makes me put on weight, I boycott the brand which don't provide size number that I like.
I have been super thin in the past. When Mark and I got engaged and then married, I was at my thinnest. But planning the wedding was a wonderfully happy source of anxiety, and Daisy and I lived together in a house from which I could ban all junk food and most carbs. While Mark and I used to eat out almost every meal of both weekend evenings, I was so regimented in my eating and my exercise during the week that it didn't matter.
And then, I feel like we blinked and I was putting on weight either trying to get pregnant, or happily, when we were pregnant. And the weight just didn't come off easily after she was born. And now, she is 3 and 1/2 and I struggle to lose the last 10 pounds again and again and again. Less than 10% of my body weight, just a measly 10 pounds. I can lose about 5 of them and then, something in life happens, either good or bad. Either a dinner out to celebrate something wonderful, or a weekend at home where we relish in our family time and eat Trader Joe's pizza and gelato for dessert. Or stress. A new job, a new nanny, a sick dog, a traveling husband, aging parents, tough questions posed by said 3 year old (last night's was "but what if you aren't my mom forever mommy, what if you switch?"). And before I know it, my scale is right back to where it was before I recommitted to try to lose the weight.
Exercising keeps me from being even more overweight (and from going clinically insane) but more exercise isn't really an option based on the time that I want to spend with Sadie at this stage (and given the fact that I had pregnancy insomnia, and she has been up pretty much at least once a night for the last 3.5 years, so by my calculations I still have about 9 more years where I am entitled to 8.5 hours of sleep before I catch up to where I was before conceiving her). I love to sleep actually. I love going to bed at 9:30 and sleeping until 7:30, which I think I did last night (interrupted once by said child standing by the side of my bed wanting a Kleenex and then, to sleep in the middle). But I also love thin crust pizza that has lots of sodium in the crust. And I love gelato. And I love red wine.
Other than that though, we eat really healthy at home. We eat almost all organic, and minimal junk food. I eat plenty of veggies, fruits, and most of the time only whole grains. I get plenty of fatty acids and omega 3's and 6's (I must eat more than most... I don't have many friends bringing sardines in their lunch boxes). When I had to get my cholesterol down this summer, I added 1/2 of a cup of toasted oats to my greek yougurt every morning. We don't keep cakes, brownies, or donuts around the house, so Sadie eats pretty well too.
But it is when I am at work, or when I am tired, or when I am lonely, overwhelmed, and when I fret... those are the times that I just yearn for the pleasant feeling that one gets from eating something decadent. And for that moment or two, all of the planning that I have done for the last few weeks, all of the books that I have read and magazine articles about healthy eating, all of the wonderful visits with my dietician... they go out the window. And my motivation dissolves.
I don't need two rice krispie treats. And I don't need to sit here and worry about things I can't fix, at least, not right here and right now. And I do need to realize that eating rice krispie treats are really not going to make me feel better or have any effect whatsoever on said things that I am worrying about trying to fix.
I don't know anything about raising boys, and honestly, I probably don't know much about raising girls either. But I have learned a thing about raising my girl and that is that when I tell her she is so beautiful right now and that I am the luckiest mom in the whole world because I get to be her mom, she believes me. She doesn't doubt her own beauty or her own worth. And while she loves ice cream and cupcakes, she will leave a bowl half finished if she isn't hungry anymore. I am pretty sure that she would eat the first rice krispie treat without much thinking out loud or in her head. But probably not the second one. And I know that she wants nothing more than a mother to be with her and promise forever. And the liklihood of forever decreases maybe ever so slightly with each rice krispie treat. And I am more fun, I can climb more structures at the play ground, I can run faster races around the park, I can catch her and flip her and hold her longer if I am stronger and healthier myself. And that's what I want too. I just want forever.
And until then, I will take being more strict with my diet until Christmas time. The treats of that season are much better than this darn machine made rice krispie treat anyway!
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