Okay. Admittedly, I like junk food. I like fast food. I like chips and popcorn and nachos and sometimes I like chocolate and candy and baking. And ever since I turned 30 and started to gain weight, when indulging in these empty calories, I have felt mild pangs of guilt at putting this non-food into my body.
But those light pangs are NOTHING compared to how I now feel every time I indulge now that there is a growing baby in my belly. I mean, damn…everything I put in there is going toward feeding the growing person inside of me, and if they are empty calories, then SHAME ON ME, right? But, it seems, cravings are VERY hard to ignore, and unfortunately, there ain’t a single green, leafy vegetable on that list of coveted nosh day in and day out. Nope, momma to be wants Fudgesickles (and they had to be the real deal), and smoked meat poutine and ketchup chips and even bloody cotton candy (a shout out to my awesome husband for stopping at that sad little shopping mall parking lot fairground to pick up a fresh bag of spun sugar in Brockville last week…!), but uh…there isn’t any asparagus or spinach on that list of ‘must have’s’!
So for Sunday dinner, is it okay to want (and have) chicken nachos?
Even if it’s not, that is what I want and so that is what I’m gonna have damnit. And the guilt can just be damned. (Besides, I had three stalks of celery, plain, just now, so that’s good, right?)