Last night, the family went to CostCo to pick up some supplies in anticipation of the boy’s birthday party Sunday. I was hungry when we went. DH had mentioned something about picking something up at CostCo to eat, so I didn’t eat beforehand, expecting I’d have a momentary lapse from JC and have a slice of pizza or something. The boy was also pretty hungry, but we had along a container of Cheerios to tide him over. At some point, it became clear that DH’s plan was to buy something semi-pre-prepared (rather than wholly cooked) at CostCo and take it home to eat. This wasn’t what I was expecting. I was ready and willing to "cheat" and I told him so. But DH wasn’t having it.
This devolved into a screaming match about what he’d meant by "pick something up at CostCo" and what I’d expected, and what I wanted. I was really hungry at this point, and my temper does flare when my blood sugar is low. No, he insisted, I want to help you do JC, and we’ll go home to eat. I brooded for a while and stole a couple of Cheerios off the boy. But, indeed, we did come home, and I prepared my frozen JC meal, and that’s what I ate for dinner. We were still at each other’s throats all evening — DH had figured out that the leftover pasta he was expecting to eat was pretty skimpy (not as skimpy as the JC meal, but…) and he got in a huff about it and stormed around for a while. Somehow, with time, this all subsided. And I was still on JC, and faithful. Thanks to my controlling husband.
It’s an interesting incident for me because the dynamic between DH and I has been one of the difficulties in my losing weight since we were married. In fact, when we were married I wasn’t half bad, weight-wise. But the stress of supporting us both (he couldn’t work for a while after moving to the U.S.), and various and sundry other woes, meant I gained quickly and haven’t been able to manage things since. He’s one of those skinny people who can eat whatever he wants. Exhibit A: this morning when he returned from playing soccer to eat a "breakfast" or "lunch" of cheetos and dark chocolate. So it’s not that easy to be around him and his chosen foodstuffs. Plus he wants me to be happy, and I love food and drink. So maybe this new hardass husband is what I need to be successful. I hate it, but maybe it is what I need. (And I hate admitting that possiblity as much as I hate his being tough on me.)