Food is my Heroin

Remember the days when you could eat anything you wanted, skip the gym, and still only have one chin?

Yeah, I don’t either.

Oprah and I have one thing in common: food is our drug of choice! Not alcohol (though I do love a glass of champagne) not crack (it is whack after all) but food–delicious, comforting food.

The hubby and I are both afflicted with the love of eating. So much so that I pray we don’t end up on The Biggest Loser Couples in 5 years. Who am I kidding? In 2 years. I would seriously cry if that overly toned Jillian Michaels was screaming at me to “Just say no to doughnuts.” It’s not like I eat them on the reg, just when I deserve a treat. Which, come to think of it, is all the time. Doesn’t she know that raising a baby is hard work?

Doughnuts are the devil!

That’s the whole problem. I think I deserve some sort of pick-me-up when the day is a particularly trying one (or the night was an extra sleepless one). A cookie here or mini-Coke there. Just a little hit of something sweet to take the edge off.

I love all the studies that say junk food is as addictive as drugs. The hubby and I joke that we’re cursed with a disease. But really the only disease we have is laziness. We know it, we just don’t want to acknowledge it. Before the baby, I was confident I would return to the gym with the same dedication I had when I was only 2 months along. The baby weight didn’t stand a chance against me and that elliptical machine, or so I thought. I have yet to step foot in a gym 8 months postpartum. There’s just no time. Or motivation.

Until now. I’m going to junk food rehab. The only way to do it is to shift my addiction to something else: shoes. For every 10 pounds I lose, I get a new pair of shoes. And not the cheapies from Tar-jay I normally buy. Good ones from an actual department store.

Oh, to be fat and happy, eh Oprah?

Guillotine of Fun

Our baby is barely 6 months old and it’s already established that Daddy is “The Jester” and Mummy is “The Guillotine of Fun.” Daddy swoops in and is all about laughs and getting smiles while Mummy is all about cutting fun in half and making sure baby’s needs are met. It’s just not fair. I knew before the baby even joined us that Daddy would be the favorite. I was a Daddy’s girl too, so on one hand it makes me happy that she’ll have a close bond with her father (and extra pleased that she won’t end up a stripper with daddy issues) but on the other hand I don’t want to be the bad cop all the time, unless doughnuts are involved.

Case in point: there we were, a happy family of 3 sitting down to dinner. Baby was next to me in her highchair: bib on and ready to chow down. I had my plate and her bowl of mush. One bite for her, half of one for me. It wasn’t quite working for her. I was too slow. So Daddy shoveled his food in and took over. Next thing I knew he was making airplanes noises and her face was covered in said mush. She was smiling and loving every minute of it. “Boring ol’ Mummy just sits there and spoons it in, but this guy is grrreat.” I could hear her thinking. But he had barely given her any food and it was almost bath time. After a couple more minutes, I took the bowl back and got the job done before his antics threw off our entire schedule.

I guess if I have to let Daddy win one then it should be this. I’m lucky enough to get to stay home with our daughter all day making her squeal with delight whenever I please. He gets a couple hours a day tops, so letting him be “The Jester” is fine by me. He still makes me chuckle–not an easy thing to do– so I know he’s qualified for the job.