|I promise this is not me, but at the rate I'm going, it could be.|
When I did Weight Watchers after Joshie was born I developed a strict breakfast routine.
1 small bowl cereal (with skim milk)
1 piece wholegrain toast with avocado
1 cup tea
This hasn't changed. Not in 6 years. Mostly. Except when I have a hangover or greatly desire CK's Bites bacon and egg wrap with bbq sauce (God those babies are good).
1 CK's large skim flat white with a smidge of sugar.
So far so good. No cakies, no biskies.
4 cruskits with avocado, taramosalata (pink dip- I am addicted), smoked salmon and tomato.
This is where it starts to get hairy, due to to slightly non diet attributes of pink dip and smoked salmon.
Sometimes I add white castello cheese left over from the weekend. Or hommous, or beetroot dip.
Sometimes I have an extra cruskit just covered in pink dip.
At this point I tell myself I'll have a very small dinner and a cup of tea instead of chocolate.
Still within the bounds of reasonableness.
Then, hell in a handbasket time...
Snippet of roasted Tuscan pulled pork from last nights dinner. (So totally yummy)
Eclipse mint on way to Dr so I don't knock the poor man out with my Tuscan Pulled Pork garlic breath.
Make afternoon tea for the kids. Chop up apple. Eat at least half of one, and half a leftover banana.
Put out Anzac biscuits for kids.
Eat 2 anzac biscuits. Miraculously home made but still chockas with butter, sugar and golden syrup.
Eat bits of dinner while cooking (because you have to taste what you're serving don't you?)
Eat kids leftovers (otherwise it's waste)
Eat own dinner. Serving too large.
|This is our sugar cupboard. Appalling isn't it?|
And don't even get me started on the red wine. At least a glass 4 nights a week. Often more. And the champs and nibbly bits when we have people over or go out. Although I don't really class these items as food, they transcend food and are categorised under "having a bloody good time".
Until the next morning.
Suffer torrents of guilt. Refuse to get on scales or look at self in mirror. Self loathe.
Go for a run (great for fitness, unlikely to shift the previous afternoon's extravaganza).
Wonder why my jeans are tight. And wonder why I start off so beautifully every day with a perfect breakfast, and end it with sheer bacchanalian indulgence.
Why can't I finish as well as I start? Why does my restrain get all wobbly after mid afternoon? How do I suffocate that little voice that says "aah fuckit, you can start being careful tomorrow".
When is tomorrow? I hope it's soon.