“Cheese is your problem. You need to stop eating so much of it.” Jim said as he reported what the nutritionist told him. Then, one, lonely tear trickled down his face as what he just said sunk in. NOT THE CHEESE! It’s too big a sacrifice to make.
We are having a cheese crisis over here. We have to ban it from our lives as part of our “gettin’ healthy” (as Tiny-Small calls it) weight loss plan. Jim needs to lose 10 lbs. I need to lose 20. We’ve decided to get serious about it. We’ve been exercising, lifting weights, and emphasizing portion control. It’s been going well, but there have been a few tough moments and some crying. The crying mostly occurs over the loss of ice cream and cheese. Sometimes the crying occurs over muscle aches and pants that STILL DO NOT FIT despite all of the effort we have been putting into our healthy regimen for weeks now. Ok, I am the only one crying about the pants thing. Jim has a broken heart over the ice cream. He’s mourning the loss of delicious foods. I am mourning the loss of my wardrobe. He stares into the freezer with a sad face on. I stare into my closet and grumble about how nothing fits.
We’re trying not to focus on losing weight. We’re trying to focus on being healthy. Mostly because I don’t want Tiny-Small to see her mom focused on what the scale says. It just seems like such a stereotype. Plus, I really want to be fit and strong more than skinny. Like a ninja. Like a kick-boxing mommy blogger with a paintbrush. So, I say things like, “I better get more steps in today so I can stay healthy.” or “Let’s see if we can find some healthy food options to take the place of this wonderful, creamy, insanely delicious cheese.” Or something like that.
I’m not really doing this well because Tiny-Small told Jim he was fat. Then she told me that one day she is going to grow up and have a fat belly just like mine. She beamed with pride at the thought. I cringed at the word “fat” and felt sad that I had most likely introduced the word into her vocabulary. Also, she seems to think having a fat belly is the way to go. I can’t blame her because sometimes, after exercising and eating carefully and not seeing any results, I look at the ice cream and think “Why not?” Like Jim said, “Sometimes I’d rather eat cheese and chocolate and just be chubby.” Unfortunately, the next time he goes to the VA for a physical they will likely measure his girth again and he will get the lecture, so better to nip this in the bud now, right?
Plus, Tiny-Small does catch me on the scale once in a while. Like every morning. I can’t help it. The scale is right there and I step on it while waiting for her to pee and scream, “Wipe my butt, Mom!” So, I am a terrible role model for body acceptance and all of that right now. I’m not sure how I could do it better, but I am trying to make the focus on health and not skinny. I just hope she gets the bigger message here.
The best part is when she helps me measure my waist. She always squints at the numbers and declares, “You are six inches around and 8 inches tall, Mom. I’m 32 inches.” We are still working on numbers, you guys, and the idea that I could be 8 inches tall is probably the direct result of watching Stuart Little too many times. She tells me I weigh 38 pounds. I try to imagine that. I may have weighed that when I was three years old. Because she goes to the doctors with me, she usually also wants to check my blood pressure at this point. Our mornings are busy. This gettin’ healthy thing is kind of hard. Especially when you aren’t a Spring chicken anymore.
If I could predict one thing, it would be that Tillamook will be our downfall. That’s what we fantasize about now. We used to fantasize about fancy vacations, winning the lottery, and making out with Johnny Depp. Wait, I’m not sure Jim fantasized about Johnny Depp so picture whichever hot actress you can think of and insert her name where Johny’s is. I can’t think of a single hot actress right now because my mind is on the cheese: I love you, Man. Let me count the ways: cheddar, swiss, mozzarella, provolone, havarti, muenster, brie, limburger, camembert, asadaro, parmesan, gargonzola, asiago, romano, gouda….
My stomach is sending me death threats.
Time to eat the spinach and kale. Time to run in circles and pretend I don’t mind missing out on the best food of all time.
Time to focus on gettin’ healthy.
This post was not sponsored by Tillamook or the cheese industry, but if someone wants to send us free cheese we will take it. Just don’t tell the nutritionist. Cheese will be our dirty little secret.
Dear Cheese, I am willing to run extra miles just to eat you.
Love always, Lillian.