Control Freak.

I often wonder about how I was able to pack on so many pounds so quickly.  Some of the weight can be attributed to baby-weight, but in reality, most of it came before Alex and after Eli.  So there must be something else.  I really do love to blame the babies, though.  It's convenient.  Everybody gains weight when they have children.  It's expected.  It's one of the small areas in the world of a Woman's Weight that has yet to be touched by Hollywood, try as they might to make it seem normal to lose it all within a month or two of childbirth.  And then, sure, it's hard to lose it because now? You have a BABY.  A baby that does THINGS.  And takes TIME.  And doesn't SLEEP.  And gosh all I really want to do is just SLEEP.

But see, my problem was that when I popped Eli out, I weighed 175.  At my biggest since having him, I was 207.  That was not baby-weight, as much as I like to tell myself.  That was 'Bout To Lose My Damn Mind weight.  That was Things Done Hit The Fan weight.  That was I've Lost Control Of Just About Every Other Aspect Of My Life So Of Course I Would Lose Control Of My Waistline weight.

Control is a funny thing.  I think it's a part of human nature to crave it, even if you aren't a controlling person.  I like to think that I am a go-with-the-flow kind of person (though, change can throw me if it's overwhelming... see my size 18 pants for further details).  But I still need to feel like I control something.  Anything.  I need something that I can look at when everything else is spinning around in patternless craziness, and I can say that this... this is stable, this is under my control, I control this.  And for a long time, that stable line that I thought I had was food.  When the babies were crying and the husband was deployed and the moving boxes were being packed and the funerals were taking place, at the very least, I could control what I put in my mouth.  And I said that.  A lot.  That I get to eat this huge bowl of ice cream after the kids go to bed because it was my reward.  And I get to have this beer(s) because dang, it was a rough day.  And I get to have six slices of pizza because, dude, can't you tell I'm freaking out?  It was the One Thing I could control.  I saw the weight coming on, but I didn't care, because I am a grown human and I get to decide what I eat.  I was in survival mode.  I just needed to survive.  One day at a time.

And then we arrived in England.  And life settled down.  And the weight continued to creep on, albeit at a slower pace.  And it brought me to a day that had me laying on the couch, crying because the reality of my situation finally caught up with me.  My husband, who I love and appreciate more than I would ever be able to describe, sat in front of me on the floor and did not deny anything.  But he did say that he knew that I had it in me somewhere to make the decision and to change.  There was no sugar-coating, there was just an arm, a promise to do it together.  To get healthy for the kids and for each other, yes, but mostly for ourselves.  It was time.

Control is a funny thing.  I thought I had control over the intake of food.  But the complete opposite was true.  It was controlling me, and it made me like it.  Calling a person who sits down to huge portions and constant snacking and nasty food someone who is controlling their situation is like calling a person who is swerving down the road in their car someone who is controlling the steering wheel.  I ate those things because I had no control.  I ate that much because I had no control.

So that is what most of my journey has been so far.  A lesson in control.  I still fail sometimes.  I don't blink twice when it comes to sweets, but man... I can't have an open bag of chips or box of crackers in my house.  Because I lose my control.  I give it up, I toss it aside.  I close my eyes to the reality of my situation.  But then it's done.  And I open my eyes and decide to regain control.  I make the decision to have control about 50 times a day.  Every day.  And sometimes it sucks.  And sometimes I lose.  But it's a decision.  It's a choice.  Every damn day.