Ain't That A Kick In the Head? (Everybody Sing!)

This has been a rough week. I've been sick all week with an extremely nasty head cold that has me wishing to run away, and 2 children who are cutting me no slack and lending me almost no empathy. Yes, they're 4 and 9, so I know they don't really "get" it, but c'mon - does mommy really need EXTRA fits and behavioral issues this week? And O.K., yes, I admit I've been reacting to them much more than I've been parenting. I haven't behaved much better than they have on some occasions. But it's just made it such a crummy week and I just want to hide and run away. 

Usually, since I can't *really* run away (at least not without risk to my marriage and the chances of Child Protective Services getting involved), I run figuratively and escape - into food. This would be the kind of day on which I'd like to drown my sorrows in chocolate. Or ice cream. Or donuts. Or whatever else is around. It gives me 5 minutes of escape, 5 minutes of release. It lets me stuff down all these uncomfortable feelings, even if just for a little bit. And of course it lets me move the focus of what's really eating me (kids I can't stand, the realization that many times I just don't want to be a parent, even though apparently I have to since I birthed these kids out of my own body. Stupid me. Etc, etc.) onto what I'm eating - or at least the familiar feelings of the food cycle - binge, feel happy, feel full, feel guilty, feel angry, focus all the bad feelings on my body, blame the body, etc). 

Yes, it's all textbook. Yes, I've read it all before. But I know today that escape cycle is true - because it's NOT what I'm doing. Instead of going face down into the food, I'm left floating in these very uncomfortable feelings. And I don't like it. I don't like being angry at my kids. I don't like resenting them. I don't like wishing I weren't a parent. I don't like wanting to escape from everything as if I *were* a kid. I don't like that I feel as if my kids are selfish entitled brats, and then wonder if the same title couldn't be applied to me when I feel as if it's O.K. to escape the situation, the feelings, the what-have-you. 

So there's where I am today: really, really, really wanting to drown my sorrows in food. But somewhere, somehow knowing that doing so just drowns the rest of me, too - in unneeded calories and, eventually, in unwanted fat. So I guess I can't do it today. 

The other kick, the smaller but funnier one in the face of all of this, is I lost less than a pound this week. As if I should expect more, when I've been sick as a dog and not exercising. When I've lost 10 in the past 3 weeks, a sign it's about time for my body to slow down. As if it should matter - aren't I in this for the long haul? Don't know I know it will take time? That some weeks I may lose more, some less, but I just have to keep on keepin' on? Sure, I know it all logically. But instead I find myself angry at the scale today. A week like this, and all I get is one measly pound? The attitude *should* be one of gratitude - a pound? Really? During a tough week like this? Wow, I'm lower than I've been in 3 years! 

But instead of that attitude of gratitude, which I truly want to cultivate, I'm sitting here grouchy and angry, wanting the food and mad that I can't have it, wanting to throw a tantrum and run away and basically act like the selfish, overly-entitled child I've accused my kids of being this week. Pot, meet kettle.