Middle Age, Spare Tires and Clean Plates: Something's Gotta Give
Now I have to eat like a grown-up.
I've gone on a ... sorry, hold on, just having trouble getting the word out ... diet.
The word makes me shiver. Its very sound makes me feel older.
I've fought it long and hard, mostly because of the general unfairness of the whole thing. It just seems cruel, that my body would work against me like this.
I know evolution's to blame, that when we were cavemen and cavewomen, the tendency to store extra pounds could mean the difference between surviving the winter and becoming a dead branch on the family tree.
But it's 2022 and I live in the United States, and my body still holds on to unnecessary fat as if the ready supply of woolly mammoth meat could dry up at any minute.
There are many good reasons why I've put on weight over the years -- IVF, then pregnancy, then the pandemic. Not fair, not fair, not fair.
Still, true. Railing against the unfairness hasn't dissolved a single pound.
I've been on a decadelong strike against reality, but now it's time to change. It's time to eat more vegetables and less meat, to pass up the French fries and cinnamon rolls -- if not forever, at least more frequently.
The only problem is, sometimes it's tough to convince my stomach that it wouldn't just be better to eat the ice cream and die sooner. (My stomach is stupid, you see.)