Thursday, February 28, 2013
Iím playing ĎChickení with my appetite and itís only ending up in physical, emotional and mental disaster.
It all started when hubs took over cooking and that boy can cook.
So, to show him my appreciation (and secretly hope he feels so valuable that heíll take over the cooking until my dying day), I make sure I eat. I do. I eat everything to the power of 3 and that equals weight gain and feeling like crap.
Does he pour it down my throat?
Does he guilt trip me that if I donít eat in excess Iím rejecting him?
After almost killing him nightly with my flatulence and poltergeist sounding stomach (my gutsí way of sharing its misery). We had to have a talk that did not include my flaming red cheeks begging for forgiveness for my bodyís assault on his nose.
ďHunny, I canít control my portions around your food. Itís going to kill us and my co-workers and anyone within a house radius.Ē
ďItís not my fault.Ē
No. No, itís not. Iíd like very much to dump a guilt trip on your shoulders and have you be responsible for my decision to be a glutton, but, at the end of the day; itís my choice. Even if I thought that being minimal with my appreciation of your food was going to seem more of an insult than an appreciation, I still need to take care of my body. I do love you and I trust that you want me healthy.
Iíll own this weight gain, and stomach rebellion and distorted relationship obligation.
Day 1 Streak of portion control.