My doctor told me to lose some weight.
For this pearl of medical wisdom, I spent two hours reading outdated magazines in his outdated waiting room.
I may not have a bunch of framed medical degrees hanging in my bathroom, but I do have a mirror and a scale; both of which can render the same conclusion in a matter of seconds.
I should be relieved that aside from being fat, I have a clean bill of health, but my mood has turned to cranky; it’s been a long time since breakfast and my stomach is roaring a request for lunch.
Considering the average wait time to be seen by the doctor, a vending machine in the reception area doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’ll have to remember this suggestion when I’m filling out the survey from my HMO.
When a search of my glove compartment yields no snacks, I consider fishing some cookie crumbs from beneath the child safety seat. It is in this moment I realize I am not an over eater, but simply an under planner. Had I only packed an apple, I might not find myself cutting off two lanes of traffic at the sight of a drive through restaurant.
I should have thought to visit the drive up ATM prior to the drive up burger window. I wouldn’t be limited to the dollar menu, trying to make the best of the seven quarters scavenged from the bottom of my purse. Funny how my failure to plan has driven me to a cheeseburger, yet at the same time, saved me from washing it down with a milkshake. Still, I don’t think this is enough to make a difference. In an effort to eat healthier, I don’t remove the lettuce and tomato from under the bun.
Later that evening, I find myself staring into the depths of the fridge, hoping to conjure up a healthy dinner. There are chicken breasts that need skinning, carrots that need dicing and potatoes that need peeling. As I prep dinner, the microwaveable macaroni and cheese taunts me from the pantry.
I used to eat healthy. I used to plan and shop and prepare menus. Then I became a mother. And life became a game of chance. Will I sleep through the night? Will I find the time to exercise? Will the lettuce get cleaned before the next tantrum unfolds?
Unfortunately, the only thing not in question was whether my waistline would continue to expand.
I’d like to hire a live in chef, or better yet, a life planner/personal assistant. Someone to micro manage my days, to tell me what to buy and where to buy it, someone to check me before I leave home and make sure I don’t forget my cell phone, my wallet or to brush my hair. Basically, I need someone to do for me what I already do for my family. I just need her to do it better.
I wonder what someone like that would cost. Expensive, no doubt, but if I could get her to stand on the doctor’s scale for me, she would be worth the expense.