When did 30 mean blowing up my body instead of balloons!?!

Hey there folks!

I am sitting at my booth in the restaurant where I host Friday night karaoke in downtown Toronto, wondering when the exact moment occurred that no matter what new outfit I purchased would only fit me properly for the outside of two weeks.

My mother always harped on me about my eating habits, saying with gusto, "Wait until you hit 30, then you won't be so cavalier about stuffing your face like this!" I used to brag about eating more ribs at Montana's unlimited nights than my two much larger brothers, and smiling tauntingly at people who made comments like; "where do you put it all?" and, "how is it possible you're this thin eating like this?" I actually found it amusing, their shaking heads and bewildered glances. Now, I'm literally crying in my corn flakes that I actively measured out into metric cups for breakfast, wondering,

Am I ever going to enjoy food again?

Here's the problem:

I'm a fantastic cook. I dream of rich, decadent French foods, and lust over Italian pastas and do not get me started on the affair that I have with cheese. People love my cooking. My boyfriend will never admit it for fear of being struck down in the prime of life by a god he doesn't even praise at church, but I know I cook better than his mother (born and raised in Italy). I make my food with love and a genuine creative flare, without a recipe, and without any thought to calorie counting or how much butter I just threw into the sauce pan. I love to cook, and I love to provide food for the people I love.

It's day one for me on a radical weight loss diet, and my pantry is stocked with rice cakes, canned tuna, and my fridge looks like it's on a leaner diet than I am.

I look in the mirror and my hips have spread out - I know these are my child bearing years and all, but did they have to encourage my thighs and my *kitten* to explode so the jumpsuit I bought last month won't go past my knees? And another thing - who in gods name thought that it would be a bright idea to give women the curse of the arm flab? I could open up my own personal fanning service without a hand fan!

At the least, I am determined to get back into shape so that when I play hockey, walk my dog, and have kids someday I may just be able to keep up with the little boogers. As for my final request... I hope those boogers are boys; because hitting 30 as a woman just plain sucks.

Anyone else having similar feelings, come say hello and let's encourage each other to a healthier, happier existence: I am NOT going to jump off this bandwagon til I'm back at the weight I was when I was 20.

Nice to meet you all!

Elisha.

P.S. Cheese- I still love you, I will never forget you.