It's time. If our relationship is to go any further, I have got to come clean with you. I chew ice.
It's true. I'm so sorry to have to break it to you this way, but I do.
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Crushed, cubed, pellets, totally frozen, slightly melted, or slushy...it really doesn't matter. If it's frozen H20, I'm gonna pulverize it between my molars. In fact, just looking at this picture on my screen sets me to salivating. I kid you not. I can almost feel the satisfying crunch and taste the frozen chill.
It started back when I was pregnant with our third baby. That would have been the summer of 2006. That's right, your math was correct. We're looking at almost six years of at least three glasses of ice per day. That's a lot of ice. The first few years, I only crunched in private. Now, I find myself sneaking in a cube or two in front of company.
Perhaps its roots date back further to my childhood while playing in the snow in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. When I was thirsty after hours of fort building, sledding and snowball throwing, I would simply break a glistening icicle off our garage roof and crunch away.
Whatever the source of my habit, the time is come. I have come to a place of reckoning.
I saw my dentist today and finally gathered the strength to admit my problem. Immediately her eyes reflected grave concern as she admonished, "Oh no. We see people in here for broken teeth all the time from ice chewing. I know it's difficult, but you have got to stop."
So there you have it. I've now outed myself, and I haven't had a speck of ice in six hours and counting.
I'll keep you posted on the progress; and maybe, just maybe, after 30 days of no ice crunching, I'll work on not cracking my knuckles. Now that habit dates back to the 5th grade...
"I can do everything through Him who gives me strength." ~Philippians 4:13