Casey is now over a year old, and I think it's official. The "baby" weight has turned into my weight. It's all mine.
Despite my best efforts, I am just not looking like my pre-Casey self. And yes, I know, pregnancies change you and you'll never look exactly the same, but really? Really? This is how it's going to be?
This summer, I put my nose to the grindstone and said enough. Enough! I did Jillian Michaels every friggin day for weeks (and I hate that woman). I counted calories - as in, every time a morsel of food or liquid went into my mouth it was recorded on a scrap of paper in the kitchen. I bought disgusting weight watchers microwave meals and endured them. I stopped watching Top Chef reruns, because it was just too painful.
My efforts were rewarded, and I did end up losing weight. I got down to my pre-pregnancy weight, plus one pound. Which I figured isn't so bad. I'd allow myself the excess pound if it meant I could cut Jillian Michaels out of my life.
Once I had gotten to my baseline, I figured I was in the clear. I mean, one can't live like this forever, right?
Since then, my life has been lived in five pound increments. Eat like a normal person, gain five pounds, freak out, put myself through misery for a few weeks, lose five pounds, and then rinse and repeat. Right now I am in the down cycle. Aka, Jillian Michaels, apple chips, misery.
And I. AM. HUNGRY.
Yesterday was a low day. A low, low, day. Yogurt and toast for breakfast, with milk and then a coffee. By noon, I was famished. But no, no, I mustn't eat. I must suffer. Which only makes me cranky and emotional. So emotional, in fact, that after reading Mona Simpson's eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, I couldn't stop the crying. As in, I picked Braden up from school and my eyes were still puffy and Braden's teacher asked me if I was okay, and all I could mutter was, "Hungry. Steve Jobs."
The day continued, and I indulged myself in an Amy's vegan spinach and cheese enchilada, which was in a word, nasty. I then treated myself to a 100 calorie bag of popcorn, which was the highlight of the day, but not fulfilling at all. There's a reason those bags are only 100 calories. There is hardly any popcorn there, people!
Then I did a Jillian Michaels video and cursed every damn minute of it.
Once dinner time came around, I fed the kids and held out for my reward for the day. A salad from my favorite place, Sweetgreen. Hubby would come home, and I would pass him coming in as I walked out the door to pick up my salad with tofu, wasabi peas, hearts of palm, goat cheese, beets, and miso ginger dressing. (My own concoction and SO yummy).
Around 7:00pm, Hubby calls to break the news that he would not be coming home anytime soon. He said this, but all I heard was: You will not be getting your salad.
I cried. I cried big, heavy tears for the salad that should have been, but wouldn't be.
The kids went to sleep, and I ordered Thai food. It was disgusting.
I NEED SOME GOOD FOOD.
I am in luck, though. November is my birthday month. There are all sorts of visitors and celebrations and dinners out. So this morning, I did what any normal person would do. I reviewed the menus of all of the restaurants I will be visiting this month, and decided what I would order at each one. Because that's what one does. Here are the results:
Food, Wine & Co. (Bethesda, MD)
- I shall order the Crab Dip and the Crispy Tuna Salad.
Continental (Philadelphia, PA)
- I shall order the Szechuan Shoestring Fries, the Crispy Calamari Salad, and the Lobster Mac-n-Cheese.
Spice Market (NYC)
- I shall order the Spiced Chicken Samosas with Cilantro Yogurt and the Halibut Cha Ca La Vong.
- I shall partake in the chef's tasting menu with wine pairings and enjoy every minute.
Alright, now I am officially starving and drooling at the mouth.
Why, muffin top. Why?