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?
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?