One of the hardest things for me over the past week has been my medication management post-oral surgery. The antibiotics I’m on are supposed to be taken four times a day half an hour before food and two hours after I last ate.
“Shuh!” I commented to a friend. “Two hours since I last ate?? I mean, when is there ever two hours in a day when I’m not eating?”
(It’s true: I graze all the live-long day, constantly stuffing my children’s left overs in my mouth such as apples with one single bite taken out of them, saliva-infused toast and cold fries languishing at the bottom of the Happy Meal box. I’m like the Noo-noo from the Teletubbies, who must surely suffer acute indigestion from hoovering up all those Tubby Toast and Tubby Custard accidents. And if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, I would count yourself very lucky, if I were you. Very lucky indeed.)
“I’m reading a very interesting book about overcoming overeating,” my friend replied.
“And what’s the secret to overcoming overeating?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t finished it yet,” was her response. Which is exactly my problem with any kind of book or article or even gate-fold pamphlet about dieting because I have usually wandered off to see if there is any chocolate left in the Treats Cupboard before I get to the punchline. Particularly if there are things like milligrams of fat or “points” to take into consideration. I mean, if I’d wanted to spend my days measuring and counting shit, I would have become an Apothecary or gotten an apprenticeship with someone like The Count von Count, who is called The Count because he loves to count.
Anyway, it made me wonder if there was a book about under-reading about over-coming over-eating. Probably. But I’d never finish it.
Interestingly enough, my issues with alcohol are same same but different. Health Care Professionals recommend between two and three standard drinks per day for women. And yet, as a mother, I’ve identified at least fifteen Key Alcoholic Beverage Opportunities (KABOs) of an evening:
KABO #1: Having a drink to celebrate my husband arriving home from work.
KABO #2: Having a drink while I’m making dinner (also known as “The Chef’s Perogative”).
KABO #3: Having a drink so as not to Officially Die Of Boredom when supervising bath time.
KABO #4: Having a drink when The Pixie’s squealing hits its upper-most register (circa 7pm).
KABO #5: Having a drink while watching television with my husband, particularly if it is really bad television.
KABO #6-13: Having a drink after each appearance of a child at the door saying they’re “scared” or claiming that one of their siblings “whacked/smashed/looked askance at me”.
KABO #14: Having a drink to celebrate that moment when the kids are finally asleep.
KABO #15: Having a drink when the TV is turned off for the night and I realise that the next working day is virtually upon me.
So, with so many opportunities for drinking, you’d think I’d spend most of my evenings blind drunk. However, contrary to popular opion, I am much better with alcohol than anyone might think. You see, I’m a “delayed gratification” kind of girl and I totally wait until the kids are asleep, so that all that white noise and static electricity they create doesn’t hamper my enjoyment of a nice glass of ice cold bubbly. Then I really enjoy those last two KABOs for all their worth, all within the remit of the Responsible Drinker.
Unless, of course, it’s been a bitch of a day. In which case, nothing’s standing between me and that bottle. Nothing.
Food and drink issues? I’ve got dozens of them. Dozens, I tell ya! I’d count them all, but I’m far too busy stuffing my face with party-bag booty. And there’s the truth.