You want to know how INSANE we women are? I actually had a momversation with my girlfriends about whether we preferred DEPRESSION or STRESS as a weight loss method. There was no consensus. What works for one mom, doesn’t for another.  

Personally, I’m a stress eater. When I’m stressed I eat. Chips mostly. Tortilla. No trans fats, but who am I kidding? They’re still loaded with fat and salt… great for water retention that makes my thighs look like something you’d wrap around a crystal vase to prevent it from breaking during shipping.

I’ll stand at the kitchen counter, open bag in front of me and shovel ‘em in, all the time telling myself “you shouldn’t be doing this”. And doing it just the same because that’s only a “little voice” talking in my head. My stress is LOUDER! It’s a screaming, tree-hopping monkey that holds on with two hands and a really long, strong tail wrapped around my head, propping my MOUTH OPEN while its other two hands shovel food in my mouth!

So I chow down, then the next day I sit at my desk and my jeans feel tight around my waist. I’m tempted to unbutton the top button, but refuse to do it (flashbacks of my stepdad watching All Star Wrestling in his barco-lounger prevent it). Instead, I suck it in, step on the scale and confirm that the pounds have crept on and…yes I know this is totally sick!…. I find myself WISHING THAT I WAS DEPRESSED! Not because depression is fun, but because I DON’T eat when I’m depressed. In fact, the best my thighs ever looked was during “The Year of My Great Depression”. This was the year I spent after a devastating breakup that brought back all my childhood abandonment issues (oh like YOU don’t have baggage) and sent me into a tailspin the likes of which I hope never to see again. Well, except for the fact that I lost over 20 pounds and my thighs looked freakin’ GREAT! The rest of me looked like crap. My eyes were sunken in and you could hang a framed picture from the protrusion that was my collarbone. But those thighs – perfection!

So I’m not depressed. I’m stressed. Hey, aren’t all we mommies? And I eat. I know I’ve got to stop. The key is de-stressing. Exercise, yoga, vino. But wait, wine has calories! But it’s good for your heart and can make you live longer. But it goes to your thighs! Well that’s what sweat pants are for. Can somebody shut that voice in my head up?! It’s starting to make sense.

Crap. I forgot to buy more tortilla chips.