After ruminating on the notion of 'fear' in my life over the past few days, I got thinking more when out and about today. I made up all sorts of reasons why I deserved a little Baja Fresh for lunch, seeing as how I've read their nutritional info and don't let the 'Fresh' fool you - there is nothing healthy there, except mayble a salad, but only if you order it sans cheese and guac. I'm trying to lose the rest of this baby weight (ok, the baby weight is gone, I know these extra pounds are because of all the self-medicating with chocolate ice cream I've done over the past year). I decided that since I'm home, I will re-start the old diet this week. Um, yeah. While I haven't been totally bad, sneaking handfuls of Lucky Charms is just a no-no, especially when there is no one home to sneak them from.
Today, driving home with my chicken fajitas next to me, I realized I'm afraid of dieting and having it not work. I've had enough situations in the last 2 years where my body has failed me (we can start with the uncooperative cervix at Natalie's coming out party and work backwards to the thyroid gland that started going wacko a year before she was conceived). I'm so afraid that if I give this diet my all, and it doesn't work, I'll be worse off than when I started. Yeah, I may be down a few pounds, but it may have taken me a year to do it and psychologically, I just can't comprehend how crushed I will be.
In the meantime, I hate my body. So does half of the women in Amercia. I'm fairly confident regardless of my current size in a good pair of jeans, a shirt that hides any bulges, and some kick ass shoes. But shopping to find something to wear to Natalie's dedication in less than 3 weeks? Depressing. There is nothing out there that doesn't make me look like a sutffed sausage in pretty packaging. That's what drove me to the fajitas.