It was one of those "hey we're all sitting around, a few moms at the kitchen table while our kids are running around playing quaint, civilized tea-party turned sugar-induced never-ending relay race from one side of the house to the other, complete with running into walls, stubbed toes, and ear-drum piercing screams. Want some cake?!" moments.
I had the cake. And it was good. So good that I only feel marginally guilty. (okay, by "marginally", I really probably mean "immensely", but whatever).
I wish things weren't the way they are. I wish I didn't have to take obscene amounts of hormones that bloat me up in the weirdest way (seriously, when you have to excuse yourself from aforementioned play date just so you can go stand in the bathroom with your pants unzipped so you can take a few deep breaths, you've pretty much reached an all-time ego-crushing low. Even though you know that at the beginning of the day, those jeans were falling off of you).
It's really hard, when you've been good all day and yet feel that large-and-in-charge by the end of the day. Why say no to cake when you're doomed to chubdom anyway?
OH THE DOOM AND GLOOM! Seriously, with the whining, Sarah? Get over it! I know. I'm annoying.
But I guess my point is that this is my struggle right now. Finding a way to see the relevance in my quest to lose these 30 (33)lbs when it feels like my quest for the one thing I want most in the world (even more than being skinny-ish) is pushing me to gain.
But it is relevant. I know that. I went to the gym this morning and I felt good. I am going tomorrow morning. I have started doing more yoga. We have started eating better--more home made meals, less sodium, more whole foods and fruits and vegetables. Less meat.
I don't see a difference (well, not a positive one) on the scale. I don't see it when I look in the mirror either. Especially not at 7pm.
But I am starting to realize, even though it challenges me daily, that the changes I'm making in my diet and activity level are NOT just about the scale or about "omg, when will I be able to shop at H&M again without feeling ridiculous???!!!" They about preparing my body to have the strength and energy to carry another baby.
I remember years ago, reading Jennifer Weiner's book Good in Bed. Throughout most of the book, the main character struggles to lose weight. When turmoil arises in her life, she does. Dramatically. As turmoil ebbs away, she gains weight back. Rather than revert to her prior self-loathing, she begins to see her body in a positive light, seeing it as a source of great strength, carrying her through her experiences, both physically and mentally. I am trying to approach my body with that kind of compassion and appreciation. I am trying to realize that while I do not fit the conventional model, so to speak, of beauty in our culture, my body contains the ability to carry me through my days, gives my feelings and thoughts a solid, (almost) fully functioning home and that that alone is reason to be thankful for it, even if it doesn't have a snowball's shot in hell of ever sporting a bikini out of the dressing room ever again.
So yeah, I had a piece of cake. A small one. Because there's no escaping it. But I'll be at the gym tomorrow. And I'll wake up grateful in the knowledge that my body can take me there. Even if it's a bit chubtastic.