Alternatively titled: How I Turned Stark-Raving Mad in Five Days.
In this case, "mad" is definitely duplicitous, as I'm both a total lunatic, as well as angry. You'd think I was weaning off of meth, as opposed to carbohydrates, the way that I'm biting my nails (something I've never done) and cursing out strangers in my head (well, that's par for the course, to be honest).
It all started with my desire to lose five pounds. Don't all good stories from your twenties? Anyhow, I decided I was feeling fat and bloated and just plain unhealthy and that I needed to lose a handful of pounds. Now I recognize a fad diet when I see one (baby food? No way, Jose!), but I believe wholeheartedly in the South Beach Diet, especially given the medical research and side benefits (lower cholesterol, blood sugar stability, etc.) that go hand-in-hand with it. That being said, it is one thing to believe in something in theory, and another to put it to practice.
While I believe there is nothing more effective in quick, small-goal weight loss than low-carb dieting, I also think there is nothing more difficult.
I should add that there is scientific research linking carbs to that good, warm-feeling, satiated feeling of bliss, so it's not entirely my fault that I'm insane. Low-carb dieting does, in fact, piss people off. But oooooh, I'm feeling a case of the low-carb lows, and the obvious cures (pasta! cookies! french bread!) are out, so I'm turning to my little corner of the internet to vent instead. Also? It happens to be dinnertime, and I've reached the point of Stage 1 of the South Beach Diet (where you eliminate all carbs, entirely, for two weeks to detox, since your body gets physically addicted to carbs - obviously.) where each meal I feel defeated, dejected, and depressed, asking myself, "Why even bother?"
If you think I'm being dramatic, clearly you aren't familiar with the diet.
I should add, it's about fifty times harder than it was pre-parenthood, too, since before I could just avoid carbs like the plague, not tempting myself with their presence in my home. I would literally rid my pantry of anything remotely carb-containing. Now, all hell would break loose if I tossed all the goldfish and other assorted snacks in the house that are carbohydrate-based, not only due to Ava, but because my husband doesn't have to watch his girlish figure. No, he's naturally stick-thin and can eat whatever he wants. Pardon me while I vom on myself over that.
Within twenty-four hours of starting the diet (just last Wednesday, despite feeling like it was five months ago...), I was faced with a box of pizza at work. I had to open it, dole out pizza slices and heat it to it's fragrant best and serve it to four kids, two of whom left half of it on the plate. BLASPHEMY! It was physically painful for me to feel that soft, gooey pizza dough and not devour it.
Everyone says that the first two days are the hardest, which is somewhat true, but I'm definitely relapsing in my cravings today. I dished out some goldfish to Ava and when she handed them back to me in the car, I had to literally throw them out the window while my vehicle was moving*, because I didn't trust myself not to eat them off the driveway if I waited to toss them when I got home.
This is SERIOUS, people.
It’s also made much worse by the fact that I’m a bit of a picky eater. I don’t love meat, but I’ll eat it, but only with something on the side because I don’t like the texture alone. Whether it’s a bun, or pasta, or rice, or anything, I need something to go with my meat. I hate the texture of eggs, so I squish them nearly to death and eat them with toast in the same bite, but that’s gone, too. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around eating cauliflower “mashed potatoes” or sauerkraut or half their suggested items. Blech.
I know, I know, I’m making it much harder on myself.
So guess how much weight I’ve lost in five days?
A POUND. One single, f&#*ing pound. I got on the scale this morning, thinking I was in for a nice start to my day, and literally sobbed when I stepped off the scale. How is this even possible? My husband would lose that if he skipped carbs in his lunch. NOT. FAIR.
Add to that a case of PMS and a toddler that's gone from the "terrible twos" to the "holy-shit-this-is-insane threes", and I'm a woman on the edge. If you don't hear from me for a few days, send help. Or - what I'll really need - donuts.
*Note: I'm generally not a litterbug. In fact, Ava and I pick up trash on our walks usually, so quite the opposite. At least they're biodegradable?