Keep your panties on, this isn’t some sordid version of Fifty Shades….but it’s sordid nonetheless.
Ok, it’s 11:26 pm – not quite midnight, but I must confess. If I don’t get it out, I’ll probably continue to lie to myself. If I admit the problem, I can start my recovery. Here goes…
Breakfast: 2 Tablespoons of cookie dough.
Lunch: Pizza and pop
Dinner: Cookies and milk
Breakfast: Hot Pocket
Lunch: Pizza and vending machine chips
Dinner: Grilled “cheese” (2 slices ‘processed cheese food.’)
Post-dinner: about 60 chocolate chips (60% dark chocolate, so sort of healthy)
Breakfast: Hot Pocket
Lunch: Hot Pocket and Coke
Dinner: Eggs and toast (Ding, ding, ding! Actual food!)
Post-dinner: Two servings microwave chocolate cake (Oh. Nevermind.)
So, Nick came home Tuesday night.
“Mmmm! What smells like chocolate?”
“Oh, nothing. I just made eggs for dinner, that’s all,” I lie.
“Uh, Chris I can smell something chocolatey. Did you eat mine?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I pull the blanket I’m snuggled with up over my head. I giggle – it’s too obvious of a lie. “I don’t want to talk about it!” I say, burrowing further down.
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask. The evidence in the sink answers his question. But, in the spirit of full admission, I’ll tell you the story.
About 8:00 p.m. I had a hankering for some chocolate. Obviously, it was too late for a whole batch of cookies, so I used my trusty homemade microwave cake recipe. It’s perfect because it’s “for two” and you don’t end up with a whole cake to eat.
I’ll just go ahead and make two, and then Nick can have one when he gets home.
I microwave two mugs, grab one for myself, and snuggle up on the couch to watch the finale of The Carrie Diaries on Hulu. (Don’t judge – there’s something about the show that makes me nostalgic. I think it reminds of of Degrassi High from the 80s. Remember that show? Anyway, it’s my guilty pleasure.) Suddenly, I look down to find my mug empty.
The smell of hot, baked chocolate was still wafting dangerously through the air. Will was sleeping. Carrie Diaries had twenty minutes left.
I look down.
Wait. This other mug is empty too? What happened?!
I rush to the sink and douse the mugs in water. My hasty work failed to cover my tracks.
And now you know my tale.
Ugh. What is my deal? I have a baby I’m trying to be a good role model for, not to mention breastfeed. My milk probably tastes like Hot Pockets and Coke with a dash of cocoa. (Hmmm…not bad…)
Change starts today, folks. Pop becomes water. Sweets becomes fruit. I just have to get through my freezer of Hot Pockets first.