I have a problem. Every morning, I find myself eating 3 to 4 breakfasts. I’ll eat something, and 3 minutes later, need to eat something else. And then again, a couple minutes will go by and my stomach will groan for more food. At this point I usually slam my hand on the counter and yell “NO. LEAVE ME ALONE.”
I have never been a slave to food before. I have a pretty fast metabolism, but I don’t need to eat a lot to feel full.
So one morning, I was on my way to work, and I felt that dang twinge of hunger, again. And I thought to myself, “OK THIS IS STUPID. I just ate. I hate this. I hate this because I hate food right now. I hate this because I hate eating.” I don’t picture my little baby floating around in fluid, saying in a cute voice, “Mama, I’m hungry too, feed me!” I just picture a nest of squawky baby birds, craning their skinny necks forward, desperate for a piece of worm.
There are a few things I can eat, or manage to scarf down without thinking about it. And this week, those things are Egg McMuffins. Oh no. I never eat there. I get on Jay’s case when I smell a little leftover Mcdonald’s in the car or on his shirt collar. He always winces and wonders how I manage to catch it (this is pre pregnancy too).
But here I am, standing in line, looking longingly at the Egg McMuffin on the gleaming menu board. I order one with no meat and wolf it down a few seconds later. Then I get back in line, sheepishly, hoping I don’t get the same cashier. But I do. I order another one, straight faced. She smiles shyly and says, “Was it good?”
I sigh and take a seat (there is so such thing as eating and walking these days) and stare glumly out the window. I don’t even care if someone sees me in here.
Please don’t judge me.