My weakness

It’s taken me nearly 28 years, but I think I’ve finally come to the conclusion that my mother is a junk food pusher. It seems that every time I decide to start watching what I eat and getting back into shape, cookies start to appear throughout the house. Tiny, nearly circular little demons with their chocolate chunks calling out to me – “Eat us! Dunk us in milk. You know you want to.”

And that’s the problem with living at home – mother unconsciously sabotages my every move. Who am I kidding, though? In our community – the Hispanic community – that’s what mother’s are for. Saboteurs. Like Spy vs. Spy, my mother and I are constantly at odds. When she first became diabetic, I made sure to keep one step ahead of her, stealing her sweets and stashing them where only I could find them. Of course, this backfired and the weight gain is evidence of that. And I think that’s why she buys the damn cookies. Because she knows that my natural instinct of keeping her blood sugar low will kick in and I’ll finish those damned, chocolate chunk discs before she gets the chance to have seconds.

This year, however, I’m going to have to fall back a few steps. I’m not going to fall prey to her enabler ways. This year, I’ll be mindful of what I eat.

Check in on me new week.

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