Me Hungry

Casey is now over a year old, and I think it's official.  The "baby" weight has turned into my weight.  It's all mine.

Despite my best efforts, I am just not looking like my pre-Casey self.  And yes, I know, pregnancies change you and you'll never look exactly the same, but really?  Really?  This is how it's going to be?

This summer, I put my nose to the grindstone and said enough.  Enough!  I did Jillian Michaels every friggin day for weeks (and I hate that woman).  I counted calories - as in, every time a morsel of food or liquid went into my mouth it was recorded on a scrap of paper in the kitchen.  I bought disgusting weight watchers microwave meals and endured them.  I stopped watching Top Chef reruns, because it was just too painful.

My efforts were rewarded, and I did end up losing weight.  I got down to my pre-pregnancy weight, plus one pound.  Which I figured isn't so bad.  I'd allow myself the excess pound if it meant I could cut Jillian Michaels out of my life.

Once I had gotten to my baseline, I figured I was in the clear. I mean, one can't live like this forever, right?

Since then, my life has been lived in five pound increments.  Eat like a normal person, gain five pounds, freak out, put myself through misery for a few weeks, lose five pounds, and then rinse and repeat.   Right now I am in the down cycle.  Aka, Jillian Michaels, apple chips, misery.

And I. AM. HUNGRY.

Yesterday was a low day.  A low, low, day.  Yogurt and toast for breakfast, with milk and then a coffee.  By noon, I was famished.  But no, no, I mustn't eat.  I must suffer.  Which only makes me cranky and emotional. So emotional, in fact, that after reading Mona Simpson's eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, I couldn't stop the crying.  As in, I picked Braden up from school and my eyes were still puffy and Braden's teacher asked me if I was okay, and all I could mutter was, "Hungry. Steve Jobs." 

The day continued, and I indulged myself in an Amy's vegan spinach and cheese enchilada, which was in a word, nasty.  I then treated myself to a 100 calorie bag of popcorn, which was the highlight of the day, but not fulfilling at all.  There's a reason those bags are only 100 calories. There is hardly any popcorn there, people!

Then I did a Jillian Michaels video and cursed every damn minute of it.

Once dinner time came around, I fed the kids and held out for my reward for the day.  A salad from my favorite place, Sweetgreen.  Hubby would come home, and I would pass him coming in as I walked out the door to pick up my salad with tofu, wasabi peas, hearts of palm, goat cheese, beets, and miso ginger dressing.  (My own concoction and SO yummy).

Around 7:00pm, Hubby calls to break the news that he would not be coming home anytime soon. He said this, but all I heard was:  You will not be getting your salad.  

I cried.  I cried big, heavy tears for the salad that should have been, but wouldn't be.

The kids went to sleep, and I ordered Thai food.  It was disgusting.

I NEED SOME GOOD FOOD.

I am in luck, though.  November is my birthday month.  There are all sorts of visitors and celebrations and dinners out.  So this morning, I did what any normal person would do.  I reviewed the menus of all of the restaurants I will be visiting this month, and decided what I would order at each one.  Because that's what one does.  Here are the results:

Food, Wine & Co. (Bethesda, MD)
- I shall order the Crab Dip and the Crispy Tuna Salad.

Continental (Philadelphia, PA)
- I shall order the Szechuan Shoestring Fries, the Crispy Calamari Salad, and the Lobster Mac-n-Cheese.

Spice Market (NYC)
- I shall order the Spiced Chicken Samosas with Cilantro Yogurt and the Halibut Cha Ca La Vong.

Rasika (DC)
- I shall partake in the chef's tasting menu with wine pairings and enjoy every minute.

Alright, now I am officially starving and drooling at the mouth.

Why, muffin top.  Why?