The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, March 14, 2008
An Appetite for Illness
I don’t exactly enjoy being sick, but I try to find the silver lining. Like catching up on the "New Yorker" or losing my appetite.
It’s not easy for me to lose weight. The exception was during my first trimester of pregnancy, when even opening the refrigerator door sent me running to the toilet. Each of my pregnancies began with an effortless five-pound weight loss.
But I’m long past the breeding years. And menopause has a way of making an already faint-hearted metabolism even more sluggish.
Despite these sorry truths, I’ve managed to lose 25 pounds and not find them again for more than six years. Still, not a day goes by that I don’t fume at the injustice that calories do count, even when sneaked surreptitiously in the kitchen, a sliver of chocolate cake here, a spoonful of Haagen Dazs there.
“Do you think it’s sick that I don’t mind being sick because at least I’ll lose weight?” I ask my husband.
“Yes,” he responds with disdain.
My husband fits into the same clothes he had in high school. He can eat anything without gaining an ounce. Worse, it would never even occur to him to eat pizza for breakfast or chocolate chip cookies before dinner. I don’t know why I bothered to ask.
I take to the couch for the duration of the virus, sustained by a steady diet of green tea and cough drops.
After a week, it’s time for my Weight Watchers’ meeting. I still feel like hell, but I drag myself out of bed. It’s a rare event to approach that weigh-ins with confidence, and I intend to reap the rewards of the sickbed. As soon as I’m well, I run the risk of making up for lost time.
I get on the scale. It’s up two-tenths of a pound.
Who knew that cough drops could be so fattening?
By Lorrie Goldin
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It’s not easy for me to lose weight. The exception was during my first trimester of pregnancy, when even opening the refrigerator door sent me running to the toilet. Each of my pregnancies began with an effortless five-pound weight loss.
But I’m long past the breeding years. And menopause has a way of making an already faint-hearted metabolism even more sluggish.
Despite these sorry truths, I’ve managed to lose 25 pounds and not find them again for more than six years. Still, not a day goes by that I don’t fume at the injustice that calories do count, even when sneaked surreptitiously in the kitchen, a sliver of chocolate cake here, a spoonful of Haagen Dazs there.
“Do you think it’s sick that I don’t mind being sick because at least I’ll lose weight?” I ask my husband.
“Yes,” he responds with disdain.
My husband fits into the same clothes he had in high school. He can eat anything without gaining an ounce. Worse, it would never even occur to him to eat pizza for breakfast or chocolate chip cookies before dinner. I don’t know why I bothered to ask.
I take to the couch for the duration of the virus, sustained by a steady diet of green tea and cough drops.
After a week, it’s time for my Weight Watchers’ meeting. I still feel like hell, but I drag myself out of bed. It’s a rare event to approach that weigh-ins with confidence, and I intend to reap the rewards of the sickbed. As soon as I’m well, I run the risk of making up for lost time.
I get on the scale. It’s up two-tenths of a pound.
Who knew that cough drops could be so fattening?
By Lorrie Goldin
Labels: Lorrie Goldin
Stumble This Post
