When Momma’s Hangry

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There’s a main theme in my life for the past three months. It started in mid-March and continues. My family knows about it, most of my friends know about it, and even some strangers.

Because I’m not the type to suffer in silence.

What happened was a little thing called COVID-19. Not to make light of a worldwide pandemic, but I took it personally that I gained the COVID 19. Not the disease, but the pounds. I wish I was exaggerating. I somehow managed to skip the Freshman 15 in college, but at the grand old age of 40, the COVID-19 found me during the first six months of the pandemic and managed to stay with me. 



I joined Weight Watchers in mid-March, which I will refer to as “the Weight Watcher” for the remainder of this article. The Weight Watcher has been a journey. A slow journey. An ounce-by-ounce kind of journey. But I’m here to say I’m down 9.6 pounds. A small victory for some, but I’m pretty proud. Feel free to send compliments my way if you see me. Me and the Weight Watcher will smile.

So it’s a weight loss program. Weight Watchers has been around for years. But the Weight Watcher is my personal twist on a program that is run by computers and personalized. I knew all of that, but for me, the Weight Watcher gets even more personal.

For example:



In May, after my son’s 8th grade graduation, we ate at a burger restaurant. I split a hamburger and fries with my 8th grader. Everyone deserves a celebratory burger and fries, right? 

“Mom, are you gonna’ record that? How many points is that? Is that allowed on the Weight Watcher?”

I’m pretty sure I didn’t know personal coaches came along with the pay-per-month app plan on my phone.



“I just thought I’d celebrate with you by eating a burger and fries.”

“I’m not sure why you even feel the need to celebrate ‘my’ graduation,” says graduating 8th grader. 

My bad. I’ll just eat some lettuce and carrots during your next graduation then.



Another example is the food order gone wrong, which happened during a hurried day and volleyball practice for my preteen girl. I stop at a restaurant for blackened chicken strips and mashed potatoes. Worth five points of my allotted 23 daily points on the Weight Watcher. Twenty minutes into waiting, I went into the restaurant instead of the side parking lot where they directed me to wait.

“Oh, we accidentally gave your order away.”

I don’t have words. Because I’m a little bit hangry at this point. (Hangry refers to the anger you feel as a byproduct of hunger.)



“You want me to find a manager and get your money back?”

No. No I don’t. I want my carefully allocated food so I can program it into the Weight Watcher.

I leave with no food and no refund so that the preteen doesn’t miss volleyball practice. Husband calls at that exact moment of pulling out of the parking lot.



“Hey. What are y’all doing?”

I don’t answer because I’m crying. Finally I squeak out:

“We are trying to go to volleyball but all I wanted was blackened chicken strips and mashed potatoes and they didn’t give me any.”



So go to another restaurant, says the logical husband, which only makes me cry harder.

Preteen daughter says: “Mom, we can be late for volleyball if it’s that bad.”

Which makes me cry EVEN harder because I know I’m being ridiculous. 



I blamed the Weight Watcher for that one. 

I was trying my best to live my diet life well, and look where that led me. (But don’t worry. This very well-fed American who only has first-world problems managed to drop off her daughter at volleyball and snag a salad from a restaurant that still fit the allocated points left for the day.)

Thank the Lord it’s summer garden season, and I can eat unlimited amounts of tomatoes, cucumbers and bell peppers, which is my favorite summertime food. The Weight Watcher smiles when I log those. 



This is the longest diet I’ve endured in all my life. I have 10 more pounds to go, so I’m sure I won’t be finished any time soon with the Weight Watcher. 

So if you see me crying in a fast food line or being questioned by my kids about my diet, just carry on. Hopefully this is over sooner than the actual pandemic. POV