What I Really, Really Want

I'm so glad last evening is a thing of the past. I hate it when I get in one of those moods. It was basically a big pity party and it's annoying and tiresome, along with emotionally draining.

It was tough, though. After I signed off here it was dinner time. I got fish out for Hubby to cook, and he did it two ways: baked in salsa for me, and breaded and deep fried for him and Mabel. He made green beans for the vegetable, then took our left over pasta from the night before and covered it in some kind of Alfredo sauce (I will note for the record he made the sauce with fat free half and half, but I still didn't want all the calories from the pasta).

Coming from the mood I was already in, it was so hard watching them chow down on their deep fried, creamy food while I looked at my low fat, carb free meal. I remember being on the edge of tears, thinking, "It's so unfair. Why can't I eat whatever they want like they are?"

But just as fast, another voice in my head said, "You know that's not true." My daughter doesn't eat whatever she wants; if she had her way she'd be sitting in front of a bag of Doritos and a can of soda. Her parents put the food on her plate, and that night she had a nice balance of protein, vegetable, dairy and carbohydrates. And there's no point comparing myself with my daughter: she's Asian, has a slim body type, eats small portions and is in constant motion. I joke that she has the metabolism of a small rodent, but the truth is her body is a very efficient machine. She doesn't eat to excess and burns calories well.

Then there's my husband. He pretty much eats what he wants, but there are consequences: he's on blood pressure medication, his cholesterol and triglycerides are above normal, and this fall he had to go out and buy new pants for work because the old ones got too tight. So he doesn't really eat whatever he wants, not without paying a price.

And let's face it: if I really didn't want to eat my meal, I had every right to push it away and pick out something else. It was in my power to grab a piece or two of the fried fish, scoop up a pile of the noodles and fill my belly. But I made a choice; clearly I did want that food, because I knew in the long run it was best for me. I chose to eat it, and it tasted very good.

Those realizations seemed to turn the tide for me, and as the evening went on I slowly felt better. I managed to end the night in my usual calorie range and didn't go to bed hungry. And most importantly, I wasn't feeling resentful about what I "couldn't" eat, or anxious about what I wanted to eat.

Tonight we're going out for supper because we're on a hunt for nice colors of paint for our new house. I asked Hubby if he would mind going to Pizza Hut -- I really like their new Fit 'n Delicious pizza and can feel guilt-free about eating one of my favorite foods. So knowing I'll get to eat what I "want" will hopefully give me a brighter outlook for the day.