So I've been doing low carb this week to begin to prep for my September surgery.
Day 2 or 3 for me on low carb is Dooms Day, where Godzilla bursts forth from my stomach to hulksmash the world into submission. The first time I did low carb, I started crying hysterically on day 3 when I realized the seasoning I put on my chicken had 4g of carbs in a serving. This is only significant because I'm not a big crier. My husband had to use his suicidal-man-on-the-roof voice to talk me down. This time, I found myself shoveling the biggest steak I have ever eaten into my mouth and still feeling like my stomach was a gaping maw of soulless emptiness (you know, how many women feel about their mother-in-laws).
I think that was my low point for carb-craving this time around. I think I should probably pray for that poor masticated cow that was sacrificed to the sugar gods.
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