I remember bite-sized Chips Ahoy cookies, their puckered little faces staring at me, advertising their crunchy sweet baked chocolate goodness. I remember bagels, soft, chewy and warm, dense with melted margarine and thick peanut butter. I remember English muffins, their vinegar twang, toasted with salty white cheddar drooling over the sides, dripping onto the bottom of the oven: sizzle, sizzle, burn.
My new best friends are scrambled eggs, apples, yogurt with honey and raisins. Soy protein bars occupy a sacred space inside my refrigerator door. I bought a brick of rice flour bread that makes me want The Real Thing. At least gluten-free oatmeal tastes just like Quaker. Imposters, they are, but We The People are so easily fooled by a placebo.
And the payoff? At least I don't look like I am four months pregnant anymore. ("You look like you have a baby in your belly," my daughter used to say.) And I don't contemplate the evil box of Ex-Lax in the bathroom cabinet. Life is much smoother, despite the hundred and one cravings I endure each day. Wheat, oh wheat, why did you betray me?
Motherhood. Food. Love. Health. Heartache. That shaky pendulum of ambivalence.
No comments:
Post a Comment