Big Macs and babies

I ate poorly this weekend. I had my first McDonalds in a year. Bad, I know, but it was a road trip - my other choices were bad pizza, chewy shit from Fresh City from the overbearing creep working there, or a shiny Boston Market meal that looked like it belonged in a wax museum. Sue me. I had a Big Mac.

Food's a tricky thing nowadays. It's a constant source of guilt and second guessing. But as my social worker told me when I mentioned recently that I wanted to eat well and not gain weight and all that - she said, just make sure you're not trading one stress for another. You need to live. And it's true. I follow a couple extremos on Instagram who are cancer survivors and they have their little vegan meals in Tupperware containers and posting maniacally about being alkaline and cancer feeding off sugar (ugh, read a real, medically backed book) - and all that would just stress me out. Plus I know of lifetime vegans / health nuts who got cancer anyway. It's an effing crapshoot. I figure I need to be mindful and make sure I eat well most of the time.

(The next day, I gorged on delicious food at a baby shower so let's just call this weekend a wash.)

Speaking of baby showers and babies: I'm happy to report that although seemingly everyone is procreating everywhere I look, it doesn't bother me as much as I thought it might.

I do have my moments; I can't participate in conversations about baby names and birth control and even about periods or shaving my armpits. I'm in freaking induced menopause at age 31. I have hot flashes and haven't used a razor in months. It can feel odd being in a room full of women nowadays. Ok, at times I feel like a fucking freak who can't relate to anyone.

But truthfully, even if my fertility wasn't in question from all this shit, I wouldn't be trying to have a baby. Not yet. So, I'm grateful that on top of everything this year, baby fever is not something that keeps me up at night. Or Mike. Thank God. I'm accepting that I've got other stuff to think about when it comes to my insides. Like, saving my life.

​meanwhile, I'm truly happy for my friends and family who have little mini me's on the horizon. It's an exciting time, and I'm not for a second relating their happiness to any absence of my own. That would be a terrible way to live.

​PS, back to me (see? I'm too selfish for a baby anyway):
Today I ran 2 miles no stopping! A total of 3. I ran slow as a turtle and huffed that last mile but I did it. Hoping radiation over the next 27 treatments doesn't derail me, but even if it does, it's ok. I know I'm getting stronger.