Last night I dreamed of donuts. The kind dripping with frosting. The big, thick gooey ones that get all over you. There were cinnamon rolls with frosting drizzling off the sides. And I enjoyed tasting, savoring loving every single one.
I woke up and told Jeffrey about that delectable dream.
He smiled, handed the baby to me, and left. Fifteen minutes he was back with a box of donuts. Very nearly the same as in my dream. Just no cinnamon rolls.
I smiled because he is so wonderful, and tucked into them.
And you know what? They really weren't very good. The cream in the middle of one was frozen, the other one was disguised as an apple fritter, but was really cherry (I hate cherry), and they were too sweet and left me feeling F-A-T.
I put on my jogging shorts, and they barely fit! They were so tight and I blame the donuts.
Sometimes I think it is important to have an epic fail like that. It gets you back on the right track. My little baby (she is 17 months old) had surgery last week. In my preoccupation with her, I didn't do a whole lot of exercising, and I had four accidental cheat days. I blame the stress and worry. And then I got sick, and when I am sick, even though I should do better, I am actually quite worse with my eating habits. I don't want to work. I don't want to cook. I just want to sit, and go into a coma until I feel better. So my husband cooks. And when he cooks, he cooks greasy fast food.
But now, because of that epic fail, I am ready to jump back on the band wagon. I am ready to start it all over, and strengthen my resolve. Besides, I had lost two pounds last week. I don't want to gain it all back! I learned today that donuts are much better in the box then they are around your tummy.
