I like to eat. In fact, I love it. It's a hobby, it's therapy, it's comfort, it's entertainment, it's dependable. The problem is that I don't eat a little bit. Instead I open a bag of something turn on a show, and don't stop until I hit bottom. I haven't done this in a month, and was so proud of that, and then yesterday happened. I'm a photographer that is currently waiting on a friend to give birth at any second and am a little anxious about shooting my first birth. I am feeling a bit of pressure (all self inflicted) to make sure this is beautiful and perfect, because the dad is currently deployed and this will be how he sees his baby for the first time! Like I said, bit of pressure! I knew I was tempting fate Wednesday night when I put white cheddar Cheetos in my shopping cart, but told myself "I'll portion some out and then the boys will eat the rest." Such a big, fat lie! I did portion two servings out and put them in their little Ziplocs that night, and then sat down yesterday with the bag and helped myself all the way to the bottom! That is SEVEN servings of Cheetos!! I was sick. I was mad at myself for doing that, and was literally feeling sick about it. I don't even have a real reason!
Today has been so much better. I'm throwing a baby shower (everyone is pregnant in my life it seems!) at my home tomorrow, and have been cleaning like a crazy person today. I think I'm going to sit down and make a list of things I can do to keep myself busy during the days to keep my hands out of the fridge. Things like finish the quilt I started a year ago, or clean the tops of the cabinets, or tape my hands together. Anything really to help me stay on track!
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