At what point do you stop blaming pregnancy for not fitting
into any of your pre-children clothes?
When they’ve turned one?
When you go back to work?
When they’re out of nappies?
Or when they are in reception class?
I’m going to say the latter.
It is now eight weeks until I get married.
My friend is altering my wedding dress I bought second hand,
just adding some sleeves to cover up the ham-hock looking bingo wings.
But I had also very confidently told her that I would be a
stone lighter, (at least,) by the time I got married, so suggested there might
need to be some serious darts as there is no WAY I’m going to fill the, at that
time, snug fitting dress.
That was two months ago, and I haven’t been brave enough to
pick it up as I’ve only lost half a pound, and that’s if I’ve been to the loo,
take off all my jewellery and breath out before standing on the scales.
Seriously- how do people do it??
I know eat less, move more, blah blah blah.
But I’m moving all the time; even now I’m having a little
sofa gig to radio 6 whilst typing.
That’s got to burn off the two bottles of beer and roast
dinner I’ve just had, surely.
I know that it’s not cool to go on about wanting to be
slimmer, especially if the sum total of what I’m doing to achieve it is just
buying a shit load of fad diet books off Amazon.
But, if there’s ever a time when you don’t want to be all,
‘man what did I look like, who let me
wear that?’ it’s on your wedding day, right?
I kick myself for not getting it out the way pre-kids when I
didn’t have a stomach like crepe paper and tits that need to be scooped into a
bra.
I went wedding underwear shopping in London for a treat and
I nearly broke the already stressed bra expert in John Lewis.
Thirty bras later, that’s right, thirty, she eventually
strapped me into what looked like a bandage and said, exasperatedly, ‘it’s not
pretty, but it does the job.’
I told her I’d been with my boyfriend for over 15 years, to
which she shrugged and said, ‘well there you go then.’
Fantastic.
I like to think it’s because I’m a true environmentalist.
I don’t like waste.
So if the kids wont eat it, I will.
All of it. Fish fingers. Chips. Beans. Those squeezy
yoghurts that are just like mainlining sugar.
I’d prefer to inhale it all than put it in the bin.
And then have my own tea on top of that, obviously.
The thought of going to the gym makes me want to punch
myself in my own face; it smells like the inside of a trainer and I have no
idea how to use any of the machines.
In fact the only time I go is when I’m meeting a friend
there and then I mainly lie on the floor copying what she’s doing, but not as
well, whilst gossiping.
So tomorrow it starts.
Of course.
I’m going to finish the Easter egg that’s been lurking on
top of the cupboard, polish off the posh crisps and then develop a newfound
sense of self-control over night.
Because in eight weeks I’m going to look better than I have
ever looked and about twenty years younger.
And this time I mean business.
I’m not fucking about this time.
Tomorrow I’m buying new batteries for the Slendertone.
PS, If you enjoy my blog, please vote for me in the Brilliance in Blogging 2017 awards in the Reader's Choice category- the link is here: http://www.britmums.com/nominate-for-the-bibs2017/. MASSIVE THANKS! x
PS, If you enjoy my blog, please vote for me in the Brilliance in Blogging 2017 awards in the Reader's Choice category- the link is here: http://www.britmums.com/nominate-for-the-bibs2017/. MASSIVE THANKS! x