Food Addy

I love motivational speakers who say things like, “YOU are in CONTROL.”
And when I say “love,” my voice is dripping with sarcasm… because really: I’m not. I WAS. I WAS in control in February. And then March hit, and my body became not my own. Before March it did what I told it to do.
Now?
It’s the boss of me.

Food is the ruler of the day. All Day I Dream About Food.
“I’m so hungry,” I always to say to everyone, everywhere. The second I wake up in the morning, I have cravings: cantaloupe, hot wings, caramel…

My stomach is growing, my rings aren’t fitting, I’m retaining water, and STILL. I EAT.
Yesterday I put a peach cobbler in the oven before going to a meeting. I thought about that peach cobbler until I got home.
The minute I got home, I dished myself up a bowl and I ate it.
Then I got up, used the bathroom, and dished myself up another bowl.
“Moy?” My husband teasingly asked, using the word our daughter used to use when she was 2 and wanted “more” of something.
“I’m STARVING! You don’t have to make me feel like a pig!” I snapped, harshly.
“I didn’t make you feel that way. YOU made you feel that way. I was just teasing you,” he snapped back, harshly.
“Don’t talk to me like that!” I snapped back.
“Don’t talk to ME like that,” he snapped back.

I set the bowl of cobbler down on the table, hard.
I went to my bed.
I cried.

All the while I sat on my bed, feeling totally fat, utterly starving, and wondering WHY ON EARTH I was acting like a immature child.
And then I laughed. Because the whole conversation was pretty darn funny… It would make a great scene in a sitcom.

Pregnancy is a blessing, and I recognize that.
But it is not my favorite.
Some ladies are awesome at being pregnant. I vote that those ladies have ALL the babies.
All in favor? Come to my house for cobbler.