I love food. It tastes really yummy.

I hate food.  Many times, I start eating and I can’t stop.

I am not what you would call overweight.  The Wii tells me I am in the “normal” weight range for my height, yet in the next electronic breath, I am told that a healthier weight for me would be about thirteen pounds less.  So I am “normal,” yet not “healthy.”  Chew on that for a while.

I don’t think I’ve ever been truly at ease in my body.  At one time in my life, after ten months of breastfeeding and eating a lot of carrot and celery sticks, I stepped on the scale and it read 116 pounds.  I am 5′ 9″.  I stayed under 130 for the next two years, always worrying about what would happen if I “got fat,” or if I “let myself go.”  Fear governed my food choices.  I ate oatmeal every day for breakfast, a salad for lunch, and chicken for dinner.  Sometimes I would cave and eat the carton of ice cream, then in a panic, powerwalk four miles the next morning, asking myself if my pants were already tighter.  Throw a glass of wine or three into the mix, and you have a problem.  Luckily, I got pregnant shortly thereafter, so in my mind it was acceptable for me to gain forty-five pounds by eating whatever I forbade myself from having before.

The weight-loss dilemma is that we have to eat in order to survive. Addicts can give up their drug of choice, and as painful as that process is, they aren’t usually in danger of dying. If I give up my drug of choice, food, I will starve to death.  So I have to work against a lifetime of accumulated habits centering around one of the greatest sources of comfort for humans.

What are my options? Eat less, exercise more. Seems logical and incredibly simple. Easy for someone who does not turn to food for comfort. OK, so I turn to Weight Watchers. I am a chronic Weight Watchers member. I stay on plan for a few days, read the success stories and the articles about resigning from the “clean-plate” club, I count Points, I exercise.  Life happens.  I get stressed out, I think “I don’t have time to exercise today” or “what the hell, I’m never going to change anyway, so hand over the cheese.”  I start to doubt my ability to follow through with anything, and grow more and more tired of the vicious cycle.  I watch my husband drop seventy pounds in eight months by following Weight Watchers, seemingly without effort.  I know this is not the case, but he doesn’t have the same issues that I have surrounding food.

Is it too much to ask to be released from this obsession?  I’d rather spend my energy elsewhere, like on my kids, my husband, my music, being creative.  Why are numbers so important–a clothing size, a number on the scale, a waist measurement?


A wedding…

Taking a Facebook break. Procrastination is one of my big problems. I'm probably supposed to be working on the itinerary or something.

So the wedding is this Sunday, and today is Thursday.  Does that mean it’s three days away, not counting today, or is it four days away, because it’s still early on Thursday morning?  Neither option makes me feel all that confident.

Daniel's favorite shower gift, complete with three-pronged forks.

Don’t get me wrong–I have people asking me all of the time if I’m nervous.  My God, yes.  But let’s make one thing perfectly clear–none of my nerves have anything to do with questioning my groom.  I couldn’t be more confident about my choice to merge our lives together.  My jitters have more to do with the fact that our “simple wedding” turned into much more than the family picnic I envisioned several months ago.  Cold cuts and a leisurely afternoon in the park has required more coordinating than I thought it would.  But isn’t that always the case?

Take, for example, my wedding dress.  I originally wanted something rather informal, perhaps tea-length or above-the-knee, because this is an outdoor affair, and who wants a hem dragging in the dirt?  So I went dress shopping with my future mother-in-law.  I had done my research ahead of time and had written down the style numbers of the dresses I really liked, and handed my list to the salesperson, who came back with armfuls of varying shades of white.  I quickly narrowed it down to two gowns, neither of which fit the original mold.  I ultimately chose the one that kept an unstoppable grin on my face.  Never mind the fact that it requires a crinoline.  Never mind that they had to put in a bustle.  Never mind that I thought, “what the hell, I want to wear a veil, throw that in too.”  I don’t intend on getting married again, so I’m going a little all-out with this one.  It just doesn’t fit the “dressy casual” instructions we included in the invite.

Then there’s the pre-wedding preparations.  An itinerary is a must.  Packing lists abound.  I have convinced myself that there is no possible way I will remember everything I need to remember, that something painfully obvious will be forgotten and we’ll drive about ten minutes towards Letchworth and I’ll realize “AAAAAHHH!!! I left _______ behind!”  I know that there will be things left out, but nothing that can’t be fixed with a phone call to a friend or family member, because I can’t tell you how many people have generously offered to help us however they can.  Daniel’s aunts have been on board since the onset and between the six of them (yes, six), we have cupcakes, flowers, a beautiful wedding shower in Skaneateles, and a hotel suite on the park premises.

At this moment, with “Word Girl” providing background noise, a two-year-old who woke up too early and is now sitting way too close to the TV, and two sleeping gentlemen in the back of the house, I feel pretty confident that this is all going to work out just fine.  If I would simply stop obsessing and creating anxiety for myself, and just enjoy, I would be far better off.  But sometimes I need a good swift kick in the #%^(*!!!  And now my sister needs to get rid of her chest cold, her husband needs to have a safe flight tonight, we have to email everybody the map for the park because they wouldn’t let us post signs telling people where to go, we have wine to purchase and bags to pack and friends from out-of-town to see and…and…

I am marrying the love of my life on Sunday.