I hear people say all the time that they "fell off the wagon". Apparently, these wagons exist for a variety of reasons from quitting smoking, to dieting, or to stop drinking. My favorite wagon to mount, and then be thrown from, is of the dieting variety. I strap on my helmet, elbow, and knee pads, pick a date that I will board, and ride it as if it were a mechanical bull; desperately trying to buck me off. It starts out well enough, the road is smooth and I have a positive outlook on the whole thing..."I think I can, I think I can". Then the path begins to twist and turn and the ride becomes turbulent. My wagon starts taking me to places like birthday parties, or my kids beg for McDonald’s. It becomes time to grab hold of the "oh shit" handles. My outlook starts to change as I have to now repeat things like "cake is a sometimes food, cake is a sometimes food"...
I’ve struggled with weight issues my whole life. The size of my "skinny jeans" is probably double that of most women. I try not to obsess over it, but it’s tough when it’s thrown in your face every day on television. I find it amusing that commercials for Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers are sandwiched (pun intended) between those for Burger King and Pizza Hut. It’s also no fun to come across women in the supermarket that have 3 kids (all of which are probably younger than mine) as they strut along in their size 2 jeans. If this is a perfect description of yourself, and you swore you heard someone mutter "whore" as they were walking by in the store; you’re not crazy, I definitely said it.
I was probably at my thinnest when I got married. I find this unfair for my husband because technically it could be viewed as false advertising. Six months later I found out I was pregnant. In a way, I used this fact as a way to excuse my participation in a free for all with food. "This damn baby is always hungry". I ate whatever I could get my hands on while blatantly blaming my fetus that needed only a third of it to grow. The end result was my gaining a whopping 70 pounds! To be honest, I didn’t really give a crap at the time. I bore a beautiful, healthy, baby boy. Nothing else was all that important.
The constant distraction of motherhood helped me keep the binge eating in check. I remember days when I would put the baby to bed for the night and think "Did I eat anything today?" It took a year for me to lose most of the weight. I can clearly recall the day I went to my drawer and pulled out all of my clothes until I finally reached my "skinny jeans" which hadn’t seen the light of day in quite some time. Hello old friend. I put them on without much of a struggle and could actually button them. YES! Look out, mama’s back in business! One week to the day of this exhilarating moment, I was sitting in my bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test..."Are you fricken kidding me?!?"
My husband plays a huge role when it comes to my weight issues. He’s never once, even at my biggest, ever made me feel anything other than beautiful. Unfortunately, most of the time I didn’t pay much attention because I was so wrapped up in the kids and trying to grasp what had just happened to my life. I found myself thinking about all the times I complained about my pre-pregnancy body. I would walk through flaming embers to get that body back. I give him a lot of credit for hanging in there during all my pity parties (catered by Taco Bell of course).
For all I know, when I ask my husband how I look he isn’t even seeing me. He replaces my image with that of Carmen Electra or something. Frankly, I don’t care. As long as he’s believable he can visualize whoever he wants. This, of course, is the only time lying in a relationship is OK. The end result will be that I feel great and that will most likely translate to him feeling great later (wink, wink). Take note fellas, it leads to a win/win situation.
I’ve decided to trick out my new "diet wagon". It will be equipped with seat belts, a GPS and air bags to help me navigate through the bumpy roads. When temptation seems like it will take over maybe I’ll try having a glass of wine to help me relax. Besides, I have no use for a wagon that will help me stop drinking...that’s crazy talk.