Last week I wrote one of those angry, venting journal entries that are always so cathartic (and, to ease any concerns of my mother or husband, also rare, I promise). It was a list of eleven things I can do without in 2011, and number one on that list was “A closet full of clothes that don’t fit.”
This encompasses several desires. One is to declutter. Another is a rapidly-becoming-desperate need to upgrade my wardrobe (clothes from high school, with holes, or with stains do not belong in the wardrobe of a grownup. At 30, it’s probably safe to say that I should now be dressing like a grownup). Primarily, however, this is an issue of weight. As I wrote at the time, “In the process of mourning the loss of my pre-baby body, I was at denial, blew right past bargaining, and this afternoon landed square in anger. This should never never never never reach the level of acceptance.”
I could admittedly exercise more. I could. And I’m working on stopping the excuses in that area. But the larger problem to me, both for my weight and for my long-term health, is that I eat like utter crap. Which is all to say that I related to this recent Slate article about the author’s own struggles with learning how to eat like an adult.
I particularly identified with her food-journal entry, “The Day of Mixed Berry Pie:”
The Day of the Mixed-Berry Pie
7 a.m.: coffee before walking the dog
8:30 a.m.: coffee after walking the dog
12 p.m.: mixed-berry pie with coffee
1:45 p.m.: mixed-berry pie with coffee
2:52 p.m.: fresh pineapple chunks (new groceries just delivered; thirsty and desperate for fruit)
4.30 p.m. Breyer’s sugar-free reduced-fat vanilla/strawberry/chocolate ice cream (bought this fake ice cream by accident, bummed about it, so I ate more)
5 p.m.: more ice cream (also it was melted and refrozen and has freezer burn; really just should have tossed it)
6:13 p.m.: two ears of corn on the cob, boiled (dee-effing-licious, didn’t even put anything on it; husband not home; I usually snack for dinner when he’s not home.)
7:30 p.m.: a couple of bites of beef (food for my dog), a smoothie: cider, berries (rotting? we’ll see)
I’m particularly bad when D is out-of-town for work. The family joke is that, without the whole family to cook for, I revert to eating like a bachelor. At such times I usually consume cereal for all three meals of the day. It’s usually sugary and heavily marketed to consumers who are still in elementary school. I’m not much better even when I do have a full house. In a recent facebook status update, I asked, “Does it count as legitimate breakfast food if the cookie contains oatmeal?”
I joke about it. It’s funny because I know better. I KNOW better. I would absolutely never, under any circumstances, allow Ms. B. to eat this way. So why do I do it myself?