Summer’s here and this is generally when you feel like slimming down. You know… time to lose the baby weight.
Course I thought all my rocking and bouncing and brisk walking with infantalotopus maximus was going to whip me into shape.
HOWEVER… As I write this, my waist remains sans abs.
Guess I picked up some bad habits during pregnancy. Oh the cravings!
To be fair, I was eating for two then and now I must keep up my intake to insure sufficient milk supply.
[My wife insists these excuses don’t really apply to dads]
After nine months of hearing the fridge go at odd hours and, like some Pavlovian shark, circling in for a snack, never mind the fact I’d just eaten, I have indeed lost all semblance of discipline.
In fact, when we checked into hospital for delivery I was damn worried. What if I’d packed on so much blubber, the midwife thinks I’m the one carrying? Throws me on a gurney, plugs in the epidural, starts yelling PUSH?
Even now, in the weeks since, I catch myself munching for fun.
And why not???
From our first breath, every cry, whimper, sniffle is medicated with a soothing breast. Teaching us suffering may be cured with food (or breasts?).
No wonder there’s so many stress eaters and binge drinkers. Or others fighting for control: bulimics, anorexics, al anonsense.
Man, that was some deep typing… I feel like a snack.
