Last week sometime, I was talking to my mother on the phone and we were picking a day to get the whole family together to celebrate my birthday. As we were planning away, she asked me a question I hadn’t even thought about.
“Do you want me to make you a cake?”
For as long as I can remember, everyone in my family always get a homemade cake from my mom for their birthday. We each have our own choice flavor combos of cake and frosting, as well. My dad is chocolate/chocolate. So is my sister. But, I am a yellow cake/chocolate frosting kind of girl. Oh…and my cake has to be made in a heart shaped pan. Every single year. Because I am a brat.
We would have birthday dinner, followed by a huge piece of cake. And then maybe I would have another one before bed. Then, I would have a piece for breakfast. And take a piece in my lunch to school. I literally could not think about anything else until it was gone.
As an adult, I loved this tradition even more. It was comforting. And delicious. I mean it’s birthday cake, right? No one feels guilty about eating Birthday cake! Even when I was on a diet, I would ALWAYS allow myself a piece.
But this year I couldn’t have birthday cake. It wasn’t even a choice for me. So I told my mother not to even make one. It was too much of a temptation to even see it there, as I’m absolutely sure I would have risked the potential dumping and had a piece.
So, for the first time since I can remember I wouldn’t have my delicious, heart shaped, chocolate frosted, yellow birthday cake. And I was sad. For about 10 seconds.
Until my mom said, “Well…what would you like for dinner?” and I said the first thing that came into my head.
I don’t know why I picked that. Maybe I thought it would be something easy to eat. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had it in awhile. Whatever the reason, it ended up being the perfect meal on a cold fall New England day. I had a satisfying portion and even got a “doggy bag” to take home, which I had for two additional meals in the next few days.
My mom even made an apple cake (kind of like coffee/spice cake with chunks of apples/nuts/raisins in it...so delish!) for everyone. And by everyone, I mean my father and brother-in-law…who I’m fairly sure wrestled for the leftover cake when I left. So, I snagged a few bites of that. And I didn’t miss “my” cake at all.
So, I thought I would share this with you guys. Just to show you that, even 8 months post op, I continue to occasionally struggle with food. I miss some of my favorites, but in the end, I always realize that food is never as important as I think it is. In fact, when I think about what I’ve gone through to get here…it’s easy to say "no."
All I have to do is remind myself that nothing will ever taste as good as skinny feels!