Many moons ago, when I still resided behind the quilted curtain (that's Provo, for all you people not from Utah), and was slaving away at my undergraduate degree, I was diagnosed with PICOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). I won't go into detail about it, it hasn't been a huge influence on my life (though I do admit I was surprised that we got pregnant so quickly). One of the side effects of PICOS, however, is that you are more susceptible to developing diabetes later in life. My body doesn't process sugar as well as most people. BUT I CAN POUND IT AND ADORE DOING SO. Greasy foods? No way. Salty? Meh.
Pass the chocolate and cinnamon bears please. I love sugar, I mean, have-it tattooed-to-my-bicep-if-I-were in a biker gang kind of love. Sadly sugar doesn't love me back. My consumption of it is solely responsible for my years as "the fat kid" in jr. high. So after the fifth doctor I asked about it advised me to go easy on the sugar, I listened. Well, getting pregnant helped. I knew how frequently I had to eat and if those snacks were all sugary, well, I'd be the Good Year blimp by month nine. Now, this doesn't mean that a delicious square of dark chocolate might not occasionally pass these lips again, but it does mean, for the most part you can find me at the vegetable tray. So, how do I feel after parting ways with sugar? Much better. When I do very occasionally indulge (and it is VERY seldom) I feel in control enough to enjoy it and, believe it or not, actually be satisfied with just one piece.
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