The Beast

Today I’d like to talk about food. Because that’s all I seem to think about now. Food. Food. Food.

And it’s not even that I’m really hungry, I just seem to need to eat all the time. I’m still suffering from all-day nausea—still on medication to keep me from throwing up—so my appetite isn’t really existent in the normal context of the word. If I don’t eat as soon as I feel hungry, I start to get sick again. Quickly. Think of it as a window of opportunity I must obey at all costs. At exactly every 1 1/2 hours, this raging hunger beast in my stomach growls and snorts and stomps and bucks until I find something high calorie and high protein to coax it back down. It catches me off guard sometimes—as if the beast suddenly wakes up from a long slumber, realizes it’s food bowl is nearly empty, and becomes unmanageably cranky.

But regular food doesn’t satisfy this beast. No, no. Not carrots or green peppers or broccoli or asparagus. Not even apples or nectarines or bananas or strawberries. Not the things I normally snack on—the things I normally crave as a balanced part of my diet. Not the things all the books say are good for vitamins and development and health. No, of course not.

The beast wants barbecued ribs.

And french fries.

And red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.

And most of all artificial cheese. Doritos. Kraft Mac and Cheese. Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips, if we’re lucky.

This week? Apple pie. Whole. Entirely reserved for the beast.

Anything and everything that is either high in protein or extremely high in fat—hand it over and bring a cheese bagel drowning in real butter while you’re at it. It’s gotten so bad, that my nose even scrunches at the smell of vegetables. I can barely get them down.

What is happening to me? The scale is climbing fast. The self-control has fallen in the dust. How do I get control of the beast before it gains control over me?

I think the problem is that the beast has a new master. A silent, unexpected contender in the power struggle. She took the reigns before I knew what was happening—it’s about what she wants when she wants it. And she’s only 6 inches right now—the size of a California avocado. How did this little one dominate the beast so quickly? How did I fall from power?

There’s only one logical answer: my daughter’s Swedish viking strength must already be developing.

Either that or her Swedish viking appetite.