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…

Sunday.

Breakfast: 2 Tablespoons of cookie dough.

Lunch: Pizza and pop

Dinner: Cookies and milk

Post-dinner: Pizza

Monday.

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)

Tuesday.

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.