I’m not going to lie, I’m addicted to food. I mean, this is America after all home of the overeater and land of the Golden Arches. I know I’m not alone. But really, while that knowledge might offer me some comfort as I try to zip up a dress that’s gotten too small, it doesn’t help with the problem. In fact, it only encourages it, really.
Surround yourself with a bunch of skinny chicks, and I bet you start eating a lot of salads. That, or get chronically depressed, I’m not sure which. Anyway, I say all of this to bring me to an actual point—I promise. My doctor told me that one step to take to get pregnant again would be to lose ten pounds.
I instantly jumped on board. I want to have another baby almost more than I’ve wanted anything. Losing ten pounds isn’t that much of a sacrifice. I know that, and yet it doesn’t make it any easier to do. It seems like ever since he told me to do that I can’t stop stuffing my face with processed meat and candy coated sugar. In fact, rather than losing a single pound I have gained four!
Wow. What a way to come back to reality. I know that I need to do this, I know I do. But that doesn’t make it easy. Food is my source of comfort, and boy have I been needing it since I have started on this journey. Each month that brings another negative pregnancy test I think, bring on the Doritos! It’s really hard to separate yourself from that mentality.
And honestly, how much sense does it make to lose ten or fifteen pounds just so I can end up gaining another thirty? Life just does not make sense, of this I am certain.