Bad Habits
I started smoking in high school. By time I began my career in the mid 1980’s I was smoking two packs a day. I figured I would quit when I got pregnant since I had worked at the March of Dimes Birth Defects Foundation and knew smoking during pregnancy was dangerous. But until then I was determined to feed my addiction, and I did.
I did not get pregnant until 1996. I immediately put out my last cigarette. This year marks my 10th anniversary of not smoking. I have never desired to smoke again. I wish the same could be said for the addiction that eventually replaced the cigarettes.
The very reasons I gave up cigarettes my children would introduce me to a new addiction. Being a stay at home mom can get lonely. One way to alleviate that feeling is a visit to a McDonald’s play land. And so it is there that my journey began. Like all addictions, I had to hit rock bottom and admit there was a problem before I could find a solution.
I can still remember the exact moment when I realized I was in deep water/oil. It was in the milieu of the McDonald’s on Lake Cook Road in Wheeling, which contained one of my favorite play lands. I was catching a break for myself while Reid and Blair safely disappeared into the tunnels. I could relax knowing exactly where they were and not having to keep my eyes on them. I happily munched on the fries while I wrote. While slowly reaching down to unbutton my ever tightening jeans, I started thinking about why I looked and felt 7 months pregnant even though I wasn’t. Then it dawned on me as I swallowed the last of Reid’s French fries and started in on Blair’s order.
The enemy was staring me right in the face. It was going to be a battle to the death, Me versus 2 orders of French fries. This scenario was like putting Robert Downey Jr. in a crack house. I had no will power. I could not resist the fabulous fries. Who will win? Me or the fries I finally asked myself this tough question while I slowly lowered the zipper on my jeans to give myself more breathing room. I certainly feel outnumbered. These happy meals had become my ticket to misery. The kids eat about 1/10th of the food, and the rest is an invitation to my cellulite to come out and play. My only weapon is the large blob of stomach uncomfortably protruding out of my pants.
Throughout the course of my life I have dealt with my stomach in a self deprecating way. It was the butt of many of my jokes much to the amusement of my shapely friends who had the good sense to carry their extra weight in their butt. A big butt can be seen as a sexy addition to a female body while a Pot Belly never helped anyone look more appealing.. My Buddha Belly would get smaller or bigger at various times in my dieting life. I use to tell my friends to rub it for good luck. It would never disappear completely but at some point after my first baby started eating table food, my stomach seemed to be growing exponentially. Suddenly it was no longer a laughing matter.
French fries have replaced cigarettes in my life. But I LOVE them even more. I look across the table at the half eaten cheeseburger and two nuggets, but it was only the French fries I saw. I sat with pen and paper as my only defense. I thought to myself I will have to keep my fingers busy as I suddenly realized the reason for my rapidly exploding tummy.
How can I fight this battle? Can having a smaller stomach be as much an incentive for changing my behavior as having a healthy baby was for my quitting cigarettes? As the fries and I sit waiting for my children who have found new best friends, my imagination begins to unfurl. I feel like Wyatt Earp at the OK Coral. If this were a movie, you would be hearing background music. The song from the movie “High Noon” would be playing and you would be seeing interfacing clips of Gary Cooper walking down a dirt road to “Oh Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling” flashing in between scenes of me sitting amongst a multitude of French fries. We were both individuals fighting alone against a group of enemies. There was still one order of French fries tempting me.
Perhaps history could help me. The French Fries were getting cold. Like the Germans who were defeated on the Russian border in World War Two because they had never anticipated the severity of the unbearably cold Russian Winters, I would freeze them into submission. The only bad fry is a cold fry. The colder they get, the less they will be able to tempt me into the abyss. I decided right then and there I would win this battle. At least for today my writing distracted me long enough to ensure the last ounce of deep fried heat dissipated. But, the battle will continue on another day, in another McDonald’s. The Hamburgler and Ronald are tireless and ruthless foes always armed to the teeth with fries.
It has been 10 years since my last cigarette and 6 years since my last French fry. Luckily I found out on McDonald’s also offers excellent low fat ice cream. Now if only I could stop stealing the candy from my kids’ goody bags I may actually be able to shrink that stomach that has been following, or should I say leading, me around.
It has been 14 years since my last Cigarette and my kids are too old for birthday parties with bite sized candy filled goodie bags. I have not eaten a French fry in 10 years. Time is marching. I need a new bad habit. Does anyone have any suggestions?
No comments:
Post a Comment