Food fight

Or rather, it isn't so much a "food fight" here lately, as it is me fighting to make myself eat the food. Any food. I am just sick unto death of stuffing my face. In point of actual fact, I am eating a very reasonable amount of food, but it feels like I am trying to get a bit more stuffing into a waaaaaaaay overstuffed couch, if you can imagine what I mean. And my husband, lovely though he is, is a fairly wretched cook at the best of times, and takeout is pretty much a non-starter because of the gestational diabetes. (Everything that actually tastes good has TONS of sugar in it. Start reading the labels yourself if you don't believe me.) Also my honey is a vegetarian, so I don't want to put him through the angst of actually cooking a fellow creature ... so we have been using a lot of pre-cooked meat, things like chicken strips and meatballs. Nutritionally they are pretty sound, with a lot of protein, but taste-wise, they tend to be a bit like the dog's supper.

So I just made a sojourn into the kitchen to see what I could scrounge for dinner (since D's semester has begun again and he has to teach all day until 7 p.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays). I feel pretty decent today and thought maybe I'd actually (gasp!) cook something for myself -- but there's nothing in there. We had a Grand Meltdown with the fridge a couple of months ago, and all my lovingly prepared homemade beef stew and so forth went into the garbage at that time. There's nothing in there but precooked meatballs and the like.

I was anorexic for a few months when I was in high school, and my attitude toward food these days feels disturbingly like that time in my life. I should clarify here and say that my anorexia stemmed not from some desire to be ultra-thin (since I was pretty skinny to start with) but from simple depression. My life sucked and I just wasn't interested in eating. I lost 20 pounds in one month, and my parents never said a word. (Which perhaps shows you the state of my relationship with my parents at that time.) Years later, when my mother died suddenly, I again lost my appetite and shed a bunch of pounds in a month, simply because I couldn't bring myself to eat.

But now I don't have that luxury. I have two little boys that are depending on me to eat for them, and to do a damned good job of it.

But goddamn it, I am just sick to death of eating, and especially of eating the crap that is allowed me. I will be so ridiculously glad when these boys have popped out, healthy and wailing, and I can have some Chinese takeout again!