Alcohol and the utter lack of energy, time and motivation that are her inevitable accessories have helped me gain about 20-25 pounds over the past three years. We can’t call it baby fat anymore, because, well, the baby turns 5 in November. I weighed in at 214 just before I quit drinking and I am now 207. For the past couple of days, I have felt really, physically shitty. I am not getting enough sleep and my body feels deprived of everything. I figured one of the best motivators to keep me sober would be weight loss, so I have been following a slow carb diet, ala The 4 Hour Body. I caved yesterday and had a sliver of fruit tart which lead to four hours of despair topped off by quiet sobbing. I realized this morning that I am being way too hard on myself. While I don’t want to trade one addiction for another, I need to cut myself a little slack. This is easier said than done. I am terrified if I abandon the low carb thing, my husband will give up on me (this is an unfounded and completely irrational fear- but it is still there). I am terrified of slipping into the same food addiction that plagued my mother who was around 300 lbs at her heaviest. Balance. Balance and moderation. Maybe there is at least one aspect of my life where I can figure out how to apply those concepts. Almond butter on a tortilla or a half a cup of orange juice beat a box of wine or bottle of bourbon any day, right?