Tuesday, February 20, 2007

My 37th birthday has come and gone. I had a couple of good weeks and now I'm back at square one. The four pounds I lost found me.

It's not fair - I can't hide from my fat and I can't hide from my kids.

There's an old Jewish wives tale that says if it rains on your wedding day, then you will be a nosher - a snacker. Well, it poured the day I married my first husband.

The weight I gained in the 2 years I was married to him really had nothing to do with the weather. It had everything to do with the miserable, confused, frustrated, closet homosexual he turned out to be.

My second wedding day was more temperate. It was the May long weekend and the weather was perfect. But I was 6 months pregnant, so the odds were already stacked against me.

This weekend, I told my husband I was determined to be a yummy mummy by the time I'm 40. That gives me three years to use every excuse known to dieters worldwide before I get my act together.

My husband just looked at me and said I was already a yummy mummy. Bless his heart - but that's small comfort coming from someone who has chronic macular edema and hasn't seen anything clearly for three years.

So I start again. Somehow I have to find the desire to get on the treadmill. I have to summon the willpower to pass the potato chip aisle. I have to get over the advice passed down through Jewish history: In a restaurant choose a table near a waiter.

Never failed me yet....

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