Eating my emotions

Yesterday was one of those days where parenting was not a joy.  Don't get me wrong, I love Agent P everyday, but some days just come easier than others.  And on those easy days, I rejoice and thank the Lord for the joy I have in my son.  Yesterday was just not one of those days; he tried my patience and wore it very thin.

He whined.  He cried.  He begged.  He pleaded.  He hit.  He got timeouts.  He terrorized the cat.  He didn't listen.  He threw fits when asked to sit on the potty.

I guess it's all just average 2 year old stuff.  And he's in a world that doesn't always give him what he wants, and he's not emotionally capable to deal with all that yet.  I get it.

But when I put him to bed last night. I just felt so blasé that what I really wanted was a big bowl of ice cream to make me feel happy inside again.  I didn't have a big bowl.  There was half a carton left, and I could have eaten the whole thing.  But then I knew I'd have to report it back on here.  So I checked my calories and realized that I could safely have a little bit.

So I got myself out an itty-bitty bowl.  Measured out half a cup of ice cream.  Told myself that was enough.  And savored every bite.

Did it make me feel better?  Actually, yes it did for a little bit.  I guess that's why so many of us keep going back to comfort food.  So what's the moral of this post?  I'm not really sure...

Maybe that if you're going to emotionally eat, just don't overdo it.  Save it for special occasions.  No, that's terrible.

Everything is fine in moderation. Not that either.

Honestly, I don't really know what the point is.  I know that it proves that even though I'm doing well, I've still got many food demons to conquer.