The Storm

The Storm last week came before The Calm this week.

Wednesday I started on the South Beach diet (which has worked for me before), determined to finally begin to lose weight.  A compilation of weight from being pregnant or nursing for nearly 2 years, eating with my kids who breakfast (then snack) then lunch (then snack) then supper.  Add to that, birth control and ~ let's face it ~ depression medication for a sad funk that I couldn't get out of, my husband losing his job and the holidays: and here I am today, weighing as much as I did at the very end of my pregnancies. - - - -

- - - - Decided I must truly bear all and post this. . . A few weeks back someone I know (not too well) put her hand on my belly and asked, "When did this happen?"  Mortified, but trying to save her I discreetly offered, "Oh no, I'm not pregnant."  She argued with me like I was fooling her, "Yes you are!"  Completely degrading right?  I am trying hard to get over it, which is why I nearly left this out of my post.  Onward now. - - - -

I spent Thursday enjoying my salads and even salmon for dinner.  Diet on track.

Sometime Friday, my 2 day, caffeine withdrawal headache went away.  A relief.  That evening, after preparing for weeks, I co-taught a cookbook class in my home, recipe exchange/potluck style.  Very fun, but extremely exhausting.  Especially the part where (after no diet-cheating for 3 days) I had to restrain myself from the vittles which were all desserts, my weakness.  You should have seen me swoon when a gal took the lid off the Scotcharoos.  Death by chocolate whiff.

Early Saturday morning, my maternal grandpa died.  My parents headed to Wyoming.  We couldn't possibly go to support them because money is tight and we couldn't risk the chance that Jason may get a call to work.  Right now he is contracted with a local survey company, but does not have a full-time position there yet.  (We're praying.)

I decided with only some regret to quit my diet.  My reasoning... I have already given up too much, namely over excessive shopping in a down and dirty heart to heart with Jason recently, and food just makes me feel good.  I got out of bed and ate a Scotcharoo, an Italian Wedding cookie and a Peanut Butter Chocolate No-Bake cookie with a Diet Pepsi for breakfast.

I felt better.  A lot better.  Is that sick?

Sunday, Isabella went down for her morning nap and yelped the oddest scream cry 15 minutes later that I went to check on her right away.  There was blood on her teeth and little paisley sheets.  She uses the wooden crib rail as a teether (shiver), so I figured she was cutting a molar.  But there was a lot of blood, and on closer examination I found a deep gaping gash on her tiny tongue.  It's a good thing Jason was sitting down or else I might have had to mop up his blood too.  I was really worried by the size and depth of the bite, so I put her in the car and drove to the ER alone.  No sutures thank goodness.  She's a trooper and hardly cried, but I could barely keep it together this time.  (As you know, this is my 2nd trip to the ER for mouth wounds in less than a month.)

My husband was, I'll say "Out of order" and my mommy was out of town dealing with her own grief far worse than mine.  Now the song lyrics come to mind, "I've been down, I've been downhearted babe."  I had this hole.  This empty space.  This longing for comfort.  The cool thing is I realized my God is the only one who could fill it.  Somehow He is helping me live.  And be.