Making Excuses

It seems I've always given myself an excuse to eat poorly. It's a special occasion. Family is visiting. We're on vacation. I'm depressed. I'm happy. I'm bored. I deserve it.

Of course, those are all very acute reasons. I gave myself plenty of chronic reasons, too, particularly around the time I was trying to get pregnant with my first. Unfortunately for myself and thousands of other women, there is a belief that diet is not conducive to conception and pregnancy itself. Our bodies need fat to conceive, I convinced myself. Voluptuous figures are symbolic of fertility, so I certainly had plenty to add in that regard. In 1997, a Harvard study suggested that eating whole fat dairy (ice cream, in the case of the study) helped certain couples with infertility. A new excuse to eat ice cream! Fortunately, at the time, I realized that the study pertained to couples with a different fertility issues than what I had (inability to get pregnant versus habitual miscarriages), and that eating ice cream would serve one purpose: make me fatter. But while I scoffed at the women I knew downing tubs of Dreyers, I harbored my own beliefs that now was no time to diet and that if I was hungry, I should eat, and I should eat what I want.

Making the decision to lose weight to potentially prevent further miscarriages was an easy decision to make. Prior to talking with my reproductive endocrinologist, it never occurred to me my weight could be an issue. Of course, I also had a history with blood clots, so blood thinners during pregnancy also became part of my regimen. Who knows the true reason I wound up carrying to term - less body fat? The heparin injections? Pure luck? - but giving birth to my baby girl made me realize that whatever occurred, I should repeat all my steps should I get pregnant again. I did, and carried to term again with my next pregnancy.

So, trying to conceive was no longer a viable excuse to eat myself sick. But breastfeeding was! Breastfeeding my daughter, I convinced myself that she needed the calories and fat intake, and the lactation consultant at the hospital helped confirm my conviction by stating (and I remember this verbatim): "Breastfeeding is no time to start dieting." Score! Hell, I had an actual healthcare worker give me an excuse, so who was I to argue? I gained back almost every pound I gained prior to getting pregnant with her, only to convince myself to lose it again in time to get pregnant with my son.

In the meantime, my joints became inflamed after the birth of my son in January of 2010, and I was facing knee replacement surgery. I vowed to take the pressure of my weight off my joints as a favor to my body, as a way of preserving the little strength, cartilage, and bone I had left. I became the thinnest I was in years. Perhaps, to some, too thin (which is why I claim I don't need to lose the 60 pounds I gained; perhaps just 40-45 of those pounds). No excuses to gorge. No excuses to break my diet.

Enter prednisone.

In my defense, it genuinely made me hungry. It genuinely made me crave things I hadn't craved for months. But did I have to listen? Did I have to turn those cravings for cookies into scarfing down an entire sleeve of Oreos? Probably not. But my rheumatologist said the words I was craving to hear, the words that lead me down a path of caving in and gorgin: he told me that trying to diet while on prednisone was a lost cause, that I shouldn't feel bad and that I'd be off the steroids soon enough and could work on my weight then.

I don't blame my doctor. I can't. I was the one who took his words liberally, who interpreted them to be a green light for stuffing myself until I was sick. I'm the one who used his statement, as well as my own genuine hunger and cravings, as the ultimate excuse to break my healthy eating cycle. What's another couple weeks of unhealthy eating? What's another month? Another couple months? No one knew I'd be on the drug this long. I tried to wean several times, only to find myself crippled with pain, back on the prednisone, and my face back in the fridge.

60 pounds later, here I am. A couple weeks on prednisone turned into months with only in the past two weeks an end in sight. I am weaning currently, but may not be able to stop for a few more weeks or months. Can I let it go until I'm off of it? Sure, if I want to gain another 60 pounds. I'm not sure what made me realize that it was all an excuse. Maybe I knew all along, but I realize (even if in retrospect) that all I was waiting for was an excuse - any excuse - to eat unhealthy, to outright binge at times, and this silly little drug gave me the best excuse I could ask for next to pregnancy.

Yesterday, I met up with one of my best friends who is currently 5 months pregnant. She looks beautiful; sumptuously (and enviably) round, glowing in that completely cliched way that you'd expect from a pregnant woman. Before pregnancy, she and I were "diet pals." We cooked healthy meals together, went out for healthy lunches, encouraged each other along. When she became pregnant, she flat-out stated that she was going to eat what she wanted since this would be the last time she'd be pregnant, and the last time she might have an excuse to gain weight. Who could argue with that? I must admit, for the first four months, I made a fantastic "eating pal" for her. Chinese buffets, pizza outings, fast food runs, mornings at each others' houses eating fresh chocolate croissants...it was hard to tell who the pregnant one was.

Leaving a park yesterday, she asked me if I wanted to go out with her to fulfill her Chinese food craving. With a deep sigh, and heavy heart, I told her I couldn't. I'd reached my weight limit and was time to reverse it. She looked momentarily disappointed, then perked up a moment before saying, "Come on. Aren't you supposed to be my eating pal until August [her due date]?" I laughed, considering for a moment was a fantastic excuse this would be. Yearning for another excuse to give it all up right there. Then an image hit me: me four months from now, waddling next to her without the knowledge that at least my waddle would end once I gave birth. The moment of temptation passed. "I'd love to," I explained, "but by August, I'd be bigger than you'll be at 9 months pregnant." She nodded, understanding (as she, too, has long fought the battle of the bulge), and we parted ways for the day.

One small feat at a time. That's what this is has come down to.

Today marks the day I start my fruits and veggies portion of my diet. And screw it, it's not a lifestyle change for me right now. It's a diet. Sorry to all my "lifestyle change" friends out there. I'm looking to lose weight. Once I want to maintain, sure, it'll be a lifestyle change. I'm all for that line of thinking. Right now, I'm restricting. Granted, I plan on being much less restrictive in just a couple days. Right now, I'm trying to squelch my appetite and it's working. Today, strawberries taste like nectar of the gods. I had a banana for breakfast that tasted as good as any ice cream. In my fridge, I have pink lady apples, clementine oranges, more strawberries, kiwi, pears, and grapefruit. I'm craving one of those apples, and the salad I'll have for dinner tonight sounds divine. This is the result of my cleanse the last two days. Fruits and veggies sound...perfect. This is where I need to be right now. Let's just hope the desire to eat these healthy foods remains with me.

4.6 pounds lost since two days ago. Again, mostly water weight, but the last two days hasn't been about weight loss so much as body boot camp. Come next week, I'm ready for something that more resembles "lifestyle eating." Portion control, moderation, all those adages you hear about dieting. It's what I believe in, too, as opposed to fad diets and cutting off entire food groups. It's what's worked for me in the past. The challenge this time isn't just losing weight; it's maintaining weight.

No more excuses this time. I've got to will myself to not just ignore excuses that might arise, but to stop actively looking for them. It's been my biggest downfall, and it's my biggest challenge. I need to find more excuses to be healthy and to deem those excuses to carry more weight (ha!) than excuses to be unhealthy. Time to reframe my priorities, to seek out benefits. I'm right at the beginning where motivation is highest; I need accountability to keep that motivation. It's just a day at a time, but any day where I make the healthy excuse the right excuse is a day of success for me.