Seasonal craving tough to control
It’s that time of year. My jeans are too tight, and the laundry fairy has shrunk all my sweaters.
It all started when I was pregnant with my second son. It was Christmas, and I developed a sudden overwhelming passion for nonalcoholic eggnog. Pregnant women are supposed to drink milk. I loathe milk. Eggnog seemed like an acceptable substitute. After all, it was in the dairy case right next to the milk.
I knew I was in trouble when I went for my doctor’s appointment after the holidays. I stepped on the scale and the nurse gasped. My husband whistled. This made it difficult for me to adhere to my “ignorance is bliss” strategy for prenatal weight gain. Then the doctor came in. He shook his head and said, “Cindy, you’ve gained 8 pounds in the last three weeks. What have you been doing?”
“Eggnog,” my husband blurted. “Straight shots. I think she even puts it on her Lucky Charms!”
This was the last prenatal visit he was invited to. As if he hadn’t already done enough.
My blood sugar had spiked as well. Apparently eggnog has more than egg and nog in it. Still, the holidays were over, and I’d pretty much drunk the town dry. I wasn’t worried.
A few months later, Alex was born. He weighed in at a whopping 10 pounds 6 ounces and was 22 inches long. I was instantly cured of my eggnog addiction. Natural childbirth can cure a woman of a lot of things. Next Christmas, just the sight of those gallon jugs at Costco made me wince.
I remained clean and eggnog free for 10 years, but then a few years ago, I noticed a sign outside my favorite coffee stand. “We have eggnog,” it proclaimed. “What a way to ruin perfectly good coffee,” I said when my barista tried to tempt me with a frothy eggnog latte.
Like Eve to Adam in the garden, she said, “Try it; you’ll like it.” I did. And I was hooked. My favorite vitamin “C” (caffeine), mixed with sweet, creamy eggnog. That year I gained 5 pounds between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Now, each year it’s a battle of the bulge. Fruitcake and fudge fail to tempt me.
It’s the nog blended with coffee that I crave. And because of that I spend January and February punishing my body at the gym to get rid of the unwanted baggage caused by my addiction.
Those darn “We have eggnog” signs show up earlier each year. Sometimes even before Halloween. They’re probably extending the season because of me.
This year, I couldn’t zip my jeans without my husband’s help, and we still have a couple of weeks left before Christmas. So I vowed to go off the nog, cold turkey.
I felt immensely pleased with myself, as days passed and I remained on the wagon. Then one night, I pulled into my driveway and saw something nestled against my front door. I paused at the bottom step. It was a bottle of eggnog flavored coffee creamer with a heart-shaped note attached. My best friend, who knew of my passion but not my resolve, had left it on my front porch.
It’s not like I have a problem. I can quit anytime I want to. And I will. Tomorrow.