Weighty matters (and a picture especially for Patsy)

Perhaps some of my readers recall that I set out to lose some weight back around New Year's.  Our doctor threatened Cliff back then, saying he was going to end up diabetic if he didn't lose some weight; then he pointed the finger at me, saying he knew I was the one putting food on the table.  
I've lost twenty pounds, and my weight has stayed at 166 ever since the colonoscopy prep got me down to that point.  No, I haven't really lost any pounds since then, but I pat myself on the back for not gaining.  I got rid of most of my pregnant-looking belly; I now appear only about four months pregnant, instead of seven.  
Cliff keeps losing the same five pounds and gaining it back, through no fault of my own.  Oh, I suggest eating out about once a week... Pizza Hut is a favorite... but I make up for those excess calories with the meals I prepare at home that day, so it works out well.  If we have something not-so-good-for-us at home, like fried catfish, I no longer cook two skillets-full, and I don't make the corn bread and fried potatoes that I love to serve with it; I substitute a small baked potato and some broccoli or spinach or green beans.    
Cliff's problem lies in meals he eats without my supervision.  Catered dinners at work, for instance, although he's done rather well at sticking to one portion on those.  
Weekend before last, Cliff spent two days and nights at his brother's house in Kansas, without me.  Don's wife is a good cook.  She made, among other things, a coconut cream pie, and practically followed Cliff around with it until it was gone.  
I'm not faulting her; Cliff is a cook's dream.  He loves to eat and is very appreciative of the efforts made at preparing a meal.  Everybody loves to feed him.   
I'm not faulting Cliff, either.  He absolutely can't help himself when he comes face to face with coconut cream pie, or any pie, really.  Had I been there, he would have felt accountable and would have stuck with one serving, without my saying a word.  Looks like if he heads down there again, I'll be going along.  Boredom never killed anybody.  
What bothers me about this whole situation is the way I feel when something like this happens.  My mind knows Cliff wasn't thinking, "Oh boy, Boss Donna isn't here with her whip, so I'll show her; I'll eat all the stuff she doesn't want me eating."  
Nope.  He was thinking, "Coconut Cream pie!!!!!!  I haven't had pie in months!!!!  I love pie!  Pass the pie!!!!"  
In fact, I know Cliff well enough that I can say assuredly he had extreme guilt with every bite of that pie.  
 But when he came home and had gained that five pounds back that we'd spent three weeks getting off him, here's what I felt... not what I thought, because I know better, but what I felt:  
"He doesn't care about my efforts.  He doesn't care that I would love to make pie because I like pie too, but I can't make it because he would gain weight.  He doesn't care if he gets diabetes and goes blind and has limbs amputated as long as he can eat pie."   
After all, it's all about me.  Right?
What really makes this so childish of me is that I have my own set of eating problems; if I didn't, I wouldn't be just "holding my own" with regard to weight.  I'd still be losing.  I'd stay away from Pizza Hut and I'd stop having a gallon or so of popcorn every night for supper.  
Since nobody ever threatened me with diabetes, I suppose I figure I'm doing OK.  
I may be childish, but at least I can admit it: maybe that's why our marriage has lasted so long.  Or maybe Cliff is just a very long-suffering person.  

My Arkansas bloggie-friend, Patsy, was disappointed that I failed to use this picture in the previous entry.  So here you go, Patsy, even though this probably doesn't go under the heading of "weighty matters".