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In 2003, between my third and fourth year at university, I tried a diet with my mother for two weeks.

It was called Atkins.

For two weeks we ate nothing but protein and leafy vegetables. No bread. No pasta. No potatoes. No reason to live.

The weight melted off.

I stayed on the diet for the rest of the summer. I lost 30 pounds, I had more energy than an ADHD kid on Redbull, and I felt AWESOME about myself.

I kept that weight off for a year, too. During the week I fed myself protein and veggies, and on weekends I splurged on a bag of chips or some popcorn. That held my weight steady.

That was one of the best years of my life so far.

The next year I was graduated and working as a telemarketer. I missed university. I missed Perfect Husband, who was still just Best Friend Who Worshipped Me From Afar But Now Lived In Frigging Vancouver. I hated my job.

I started eating perogies for lunch.

Then my boyfriend’s mother brought us an economy sized box of Kraft Dinner.

Then, when I suggested cooking something other than Kraft Dinner, my boyfriend would say “ugh, I don’t feel like eating *insert suggestion here*. Let’s get McDonalds.”

I gained 10 pounds.

Since that wondrous summer, when I broke free of my carb addiction, my weight has slowly creeped ever upwards.

I was 213 before Babby was born. Since then, my weight has plateaued at 175, which is still a good 15 pounds heavier than my pre-baby weight, and THAT was a good 15 pounds heavier than I was on my wedding day, and THAT was 15 pounds heavier than I was after the Summer of Awesome.

I don’t recognize myself in photos.

One problem is that no other diet seems to work for me. Diabetes runs in my family and my body just seems to chemically bond to sugar and then somehow turn it into twice its weight worth in fat. I could eat nothing but salads and whole grain bread, but so long as that bread is there, my weight wouldn’t budge.

The other problem is that I can never get past those first few days, when you’re detoxing from the carbs and you feel like you would sell your soul for a piece of toast.

…that is a universal feeling, right?

Well, I’m trying again. I don’t dare do it too strictly – I don’t want to mess with my milk – but I have to do SOMETHING. I hate my weight. I hate how I look. My clothes don’t fit. It’s just UGH.

But it’s only day 2 of the diet and already I’m starting to think: “Do I really want to ruin my last week off with Babby by cutting out carbs?”

And then I think “Do I really feel like I can’t enjoy my SON without CARBS?”

So I’m fighting it. But it’s hard going. Without carbs to soothe me, everything feels too difficult.

Take our morning walk: I can’t force myself to go all the way down and up the hill on our normal daily walk without my walkolate bar to reward me, so I’m taking dog and baby across the road to the playground.

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I’m glad they’re happy, at least.

Anyone have a piece of toast I can nibble? I have a baby I could sell you.

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