Biscuits vs Pinot Grigio


About twelve months ago I became pregnant, and from the moment that I weed on a stick and witnessed the blue cross appear in the window, I began to eat and eat like there was no tomorrow. Morning sickness wiped out the cravings for booze, happily so – but in its place there came the most impossible-to-ignore yearnings for pizza, bread, cheese and pickle, lard (not really, but my hips and arse wouldn’t have known that for their dramatic increase in girth), ice cream and BISCUITS. Lots of biscuits. Faster than you could say ‘bun in the oven,’ I had clapped on about a stone and a half, and it only got worse from there.

Before I became pregnant and sober, I hardly touched sugary food, choosing instead to consume the bulk of my weekly calorie intake in alcohol. Somehow I managed to maintain a reasonable weight of nine and a half stone (I attempted to counteract the booze problem with a bit of running, fooling myself in to believing that it would negate my being an alcoholic), but then again I picked at food like an old woman and had an unnatural ability to control my cravings for fatty and sweet foods. Alas, now that the booze has been eliminated and the bun has been cooked and served fresh from the oven, the sweet cravings have not subsided one jot.

Now, I was led to believe that one of the more pleasing side effects of saying sayonara to booze was that the pounds would drop off rapidly, leaving a newly sober person to reap the rewards of their impressive rejection of alcohol by way of a svelte, fat-free figure. I have to be honest – this has not been the case. Yes, I did have a baby a few weeks ago, and yes I stuffed my face like a fat camp escapee at a pie-eating contest for nine months, but still…I had kinda hoped that a satisfying amount of post-pregnancy weight loss could be achieved with minimum effort in the gym, and by refusing that second packet of chocolate digestives, simply because I was no longer getting sozzled several nights a week. Not so.

It would unfortunately appear that biscuits and chocolate have replaced my addiction to alcohol. Definitely not as damaging to myself, my liver, family and society at large, but if I want to shed this last stone and a half before our family holiday to Mallorca in four weeks time, then I have to get my biccie munching under control. Pathetic as it sounds, those sweet treats have become one of the few remaining vices in my life. Actually, my only vice. Would it be possible to live happily with no vices at all? Now there’s a thought…

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