Down to the spinach

The day goes by not in coffee spoons, but in meals, the baby's. Breakfast (which I sleep through), second breakfast (he gets banana, we get cappuccino & cereal & yogurt), mid-morning snack (I try to curb my snacking on his toast-with-honey crusts, because it's fattening & because he sometimes gives me the stink-eye when I eat his food), lunch, afternoon snack, dinner. And innumerable nibbles in between. The other day on the playground I suggested we visit the fish, meaning the big yellow whale sculptures sunk into the ground. Baby J found a goldfish cracker on the ground and was going for that, instead...

As a result, I find myself utterly focused on food as well. What will my snack be at naptime? I typically take time away from the baby to eat things I can't share with him, like apples. He still can't chew them properly, but insists on taking huge bites that can choke him. Like chocolate, which he had for three successive birthday parties and never again since. (Is that fair? I dunno.) Of course, my metabolism cannot sustain the eating I'm doing, and despite "busting it out" (as my trainer says) at the gym, my weight is standing still, and despite momentary feelings of power as I heave weight around, I ultimately collapse back in to myself. Last night while we ate dinner Big J suddenly looked at me and said, "Are you slouching?" Am I slouching? How could you only have just noticed? I was practically bent in half. Amazing the food could go straight down.

I am capable of extremes in terms of eating. I can impose structure on myself and deny myself pretty much anything. Like, I could even choose to ignore delicious sandwich cookies sitting right on top of the cereal containers on the counter which I could see if I turn my head barely 45 degrees to the left just now. But despite my current state of disgust with my body/cage, the underlying motivation to improve it is lacking. Or fleeting. I make sweeping, half-true statements about self-disgust which Big J then has to immediately (and very kindly) rebut.

This is just one manifestation of the extreme shift that motherhood has wrought. Almost 15 months into this, I still feel alienated from my former self. I sit down to write something, banalities stream out. Language sounds hollow. Intimacy is affected. And diet. And political engagement. And taking part and taking sides in the world's affairs.

I'm looking for Popeye's magic stuff. Can actual spinach bring change? If not, what virtual spinach could help?