The Fear of Wii

I'm afraid of my Wii Fit.  Seriously.

I used to love my Wii Fit.  It was nice to me.  Complimentary even.  I loved standing on my balance board, weighing in each day, waiting for that little "boodaboodaboop" sound as it told me how many pounds I had lost since the previous workout.  Back when I had time to think about getting healthier, when my little Mii kept getting skinnier and skinnier, and I would skateboard and hula hoop and cycle to my heart's content. 

Back when my Wii Fit was friendly.

In case you haven't met one, the Wii Fit is a lot like a Pit Bull.  Sure, it looks all nice and fuzzy and innocent.  It wants you to believe that its your best friend.  But if you look the other way for a week or two, or a month, or an entire pregnancy....
                                     ...it attacks.

I'm scared to death of it.  I haven't subjected myself to its judgment for almost a solid year, ever since the waves of first-trimester nausea set in.  And I know what it will tell me when I finally brave the balance board weigh-in once again.  "Boodaboodaboop!  That's obese!"

Curse you, Wii Fit!  I detest the power you hold over me, and the fact that the only reason I haven't visited in so long is that I know you will be cruel.  You will make me account for my weight gain, forcing me to choose from your unfair list of causes, which do not include "spent the better part of a year growing a human".  You will then taunt me by turning my Mii into a cantaloupe on toothpicks.

Poor Mii.

One of these days I'm going to conquer my fear of the Wii Fit.  I'm gonna climb courageously onto that balance board and tell that thing who's boss.  Sticks and stones, baby, sticks and stones.  I'll dry my eyes, keep my chin up high, and accept my cantaloupe-Mii for who she is.

And then I'm gonna hula hoop like a mad woman.

 

Woe to Peanut Butter M&Ms

Oh, cookies straight from the oven, how you tempt me. 

Oh, fluffy warm bread, how you beckon me.

Oh, brownies and cakes and candy bars, how you make me drool.

Oh, carbohydrates, I love you so.

Why do I want what isn't good for me?  Why do I crave the sweet, the gooey, the hydrogenated?  Why must I scoff at the green and leafy?  And turn up my nose at the vitamin-fortified?

Woe to you, peanut butter M&Ms, for diving into my cart this week.

Woe to you, box of day-old donuts.  You offer satisfaction at forty percent off.

Woe to you, most delectable ice cream.  Why must you always be on sale?  You exist solely to taunt me.

Oh, carbohydrates, I love you so.

Curse you, forty pounds, left over from pregnancy.  How I wish you would melt away into the abyss and torture me no more.  Curse you, oh slow metabolism, why must you be so thorough?  Why must every calorie I ingest fall captive to your evil plans?

Oh, sweet, horrible carbohydrates, if only I could blame you for all my troubles.  You are to blame.  You are a temptress, for a fact.  But the true culprit is me...and my lack of self-control.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."  Galatians 5:22-23a  (emphasis mine)

Looks like I have something else to work on.  Here goes....

Bless you, oh celery stick.  You're so nice and...um...crunchy.

Bless you, oh broccoli.  Your miniature trees are actually quite cute.

Bless you, oh spinach leaf.....