I really should be more upset.

Today, while out at a park with my son, someone patted my belly and said, "So will your husband be able to come home for the birth?"

And yet, after lunch, I still ate that 11th Oreo.

It's funny. The last time CPT Dick deployed, I lost around 30 lbs. I spent an hour each day walking my dog following by 2-3 hours at the gym. It was kind of my thing. Some people cry. Some people lay in bed all day. Some people have affairs. I worked off my deployment angst on the elliptical trainer and on the weight floor. In retrospect, I think it became such a good distractor because of gym people. I mean, you don't really see gym friends outside of the gym. Gym friends really don't know much about who you are. And gym friends are friendly and make you feel like you are connecting without actually asking you anything about your life. And when everyone in your family and at work are constantly asking when you've last heard from your husband, bonding over different hand grips for a hammer curl can be quite seductive.

This time around, I just don't have the time for that kind of thing. I'm running a business. I'm raising a child. I'm doing this whole FRG thing. So though I'm trying to get myself to do something -- anything! -- physical 5 times a week or so, it's definitely not a priority.

I'd like to lose some weight. Honestly, now that Munchkin is three years old, I can't really get away with saying my pooch is baby weight. Responsibility belongs solely to creamy sauces, good pastries, several good local wineries and, of course, me. But it's hard to find a middle road when you know how well the extreme worked last time.

So maybe next time I'll find the willpower next time to say no to those damn cookies. You know, provided I never have to say no to beer.