I think age is a relative term. I am neither the first or last person make this statement, but the question of acting my age really stuck in my mind tonight. Being a 34-year-old wife and mother of two, I do my best to provide solid, nutritional meals for my family. For instance, this evening I prepared a delicious homemade chicken parm pizza on whole wheat bread, with natural herb sauce, low-fat mozzarella cheese, and grilled chicken breast. For desert: chocolate covered strawberries. The family loved it!
I, however, was no more in the mood for low-cal pizza than I was for the Beggin Strips we keep next to the 2 lbs bag of Old Roy. So what am I, the nurturing and providing mother, eating? Cold leftover ribeye (with the fat still on because that really is the best part), two packs of string cheese – because those things are just fun, and for desert: chocolate chip cookie dough.
Now I’m not sure if I’m acting out of immaturity, or a longing for my single days when my metabolism was functioning at a pre-child birth rate, but either way, no one’s taking my cold steak and frozen cookie dough from me. And while we’re at it, where’s my blanket?