Just recently something has been brought to my attention:
A huge part of my day is taken up with food. Glorious food.
Meal planning, food shopping, meal prep, and then my favorite: Eating. I love to eat. I could eat all day, every day. And I'm not just focused on quantity - quality counts too. I will drive clear across the island to get a special kind of corned beef hash. I have been known to plan entire vacations around the places I want to eat - and when. I am a good eater. An adventurous eater. My limitations are few, my enthusiasm is great.
Then about a month ago, my tummy started to bother me, and that all came to a screeching halt.
Confession: I haven't eaten more than one meal a day since July. In fact, I have not eaten a full meal since July. I have ordered food and then pushed it around my plate and stared at it and then stood up and walked away with nary a regret or backwards glance. This is unheard of. I am a founding member of the clean plate club. I have never ever ever EVER counted calories. I just don't have a lot of food allergies or issues.
(This is not me.) (At all.)
I have lots of friends that have to follow special diets, for medical or ethical reasons - so I can understand, respect, and truly empathize when people have trouble finding something that they can eat - but it's never been an issue for me. Even when I was at my very heaviest after having a baby, I didn't limit myself. I will happily eat bacon all day, every day. Dairy is this woman's best friend. In times of stress, you can count on me to disappear for 20 minutes and come back clutching a cheeseburger. I am the one with a granola bar in my purse and snacks in the glovebox, and I buy groceries like some women buy shoes. I am not afraid to eat a little junk food now and then, either. A few weeks ago I ate a fucking SLIM JIM. It almost killed me, but dammit I ate every last bite of that disgusting thing. And a HoHo. I also ate a HoHo. Same day. Same car ride. A Slim Jim and a Hoho. That was my afternoon snack. What can I say........I had the munchies.
What I'm trying to say is: Me and food? We love each other.
Those days are, sadly, over. I feel adrift in a sea of very unappetizing-looking fish. I tried to read "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" last night to the kids before bed, and had to stop halfway through to take a hit of Maalox. Sami bought me a box of HoHos last weekend, and they are sitting in my pantry untouched. It's a reality check, and I don't like it one bit. At times, I am so hungry I could eat my own arm. But red meat has been making me super nauseous, so guess even that analogy doesn't work.
I've made a lot of changes besides eliminating red meat. No fried foods - 4 potato chips had me sick for 4 hours. No chocolate - one of my beloved Peepsters had me doubled over and begging for mercy. No coffee - because with a totally empty stomach that stuff makes me feel like my chest is going to explode. No wheat, because it makes me feel instantly full and uncomfortable. And god help me, no cheese. Just....let's not even go there. No cheese. And I can only imagine what would happen if I were to drink alcohol. I'm afraid I'll get completely shitfaced almost immediately, and then everything else will happen.
Red meat, fried foods, chocolate, liquor, coffee - all out. Basically, my entire diet is down the toilet.
So my solution is, I'm not eating. It's easier that way, and certainly more pleasant. Well.....pleasant is a relative term. Take today, for instance. We were at one of my very favorite restaurants. I wanted steak bites and french fries with the spicy mustard sauce, dammit, and instead I ordered some gelatinous noodle stirfry crap with plain rice. Not even a scoop of mac salad to go with it. A travesty. The whole thing was a fucking travesty. I wanted to cry, honestly. It would be so much better if all of this restraint led to me looking and feeling better. But I haven't lost an ounce, and I feel like crap on a cracker. Not that I would know - I can't eat crackers.