Pure Torture

I want pasta. And pizza. And bread. Lots of fresh Italian bread with butter. I want carbs, period. It's only been three days. How am I going to last an entire four weeks?

Last night I made Baby C his dinner of ravioli, grated cheese, and broccoli, then sat down to this:



When he told us that he was ready to get down from the table there were still a few pieces of ravioli left on his plate. Glorious, cheesy ravioli, just waiting to be nibbled up. It was all I could do not to eat his leftovers, but I persevered. My will-power prevailed.

Today was even worse. Tuesdays are Donut Days. I was able to ignore the fact that there were two dozen donuts sitting in the cafeteria for most of the morning. Then 10:00 rolled around and I had to go to the kitchen to mix my protein shake. I stood RIGHT NEXT TO the donuts while I mixed the chocolate brown, sweetish-flavored powder with some cold water. I looked at them longingly but did not touch.

It will be ok.