Robin of Sherwood vs. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say “when.”  ~P.G. Wodehouse

I approach this subject shyly. Yet it has to be faced. The baby fat hasn’t gone yet. And the really upsetting thing is, I was 3 stone overweight when I became pregnant. I put on, oooh, a stone and a half with Harry. And a further half stone after he was born. So, that’s a grand total of – count them – 5 extra stones. Gosh. Some women find that breastfeeding drains them of weight. Ha. Lucky them. I’ve never been so goddamn hungry in my life.

The peculiar thing is, in my head, I’m still the 10¾ stone I was when I started going out with John in August 2002. The weight started creeping on – not for the first time in my life – shortly afterwards when I gave up smoking, and I had to diet fairly hard to get down to 12 stone for our wedding in March 2004.

Erm, that’s the wind, not my actual haircut. And this isn’t my wedding outfit, you understand, this is the day afterwards. I haven’t an accurate photo of what I looked like on the day itself because I, ummm, photoshopped them all to make myself look thinner. Hating typing this post, people.

Since then it has all been bad bad bad, because John and I do love our food. He works his calories off, but I am a card-carrying couch potato; even when slim I cordially detest exercise, although I have been forced into it in the past when my weight has overtaken the average prop forward. Plus, I adore baking, have a dreadfully sweet tooth, and have a longstanding love affair with chocolate and ice cream. Nevertheless, you’d think 6 years would be sufficient time to mentally adjust to what my no-longer-new silhouette actually looks like, yes? 

Nah. 

I looked into a shop window Monday afternoon and caught a glimpse of a huuuuuuuuuge arse. Counter-balanced by an equally staggering belly and boobs, and OMG she’s wearing my clothes… oh. 

That’d be me, then.

To be fair, my bad-back-slightly-crouched-posture was doing my bum no favours that day, but the fact remains that I shyed away from the window like a startled pony and plunged miserably on to where the shop windows were less bloody reflective. In my deluded little brain, you see, my excess weight has been temporary, hence I don’t actually have to deal with the altered body image. Really, any day now, I’m going to get back into all my size 12 (US size 10) clothes. Just like that. This is why I refuse to buy nice clothes in large sizes these days – because I won’t be wearing them long! Except… I’m switched on about the bum thing sufficiently to realise that a bit of concealment is in order when you have acres of flesh to shoehorn behind cloth. My taste in clothes used to run to bright pinks, expensive cuts and cleavage. Your average drag queen could probably find something appealing in my disused spare-room wardrobe. Now, my washing line consists purely of bargain-line browns, dark greens, blacks and greys. Camouflage for someone no longer willing to invest in her appearance.

Not only is my weight horribly affecting my self-esteem, but is probably impacting on my fertility by now as well; I deliberately haven’t checked my BMI, but I know that I’m well into the Clinically Obese sector. When your ovaries are a bit useless in any case, this sort of baggage overload matters.

So! What to do? I have done a little already. I tipped the scales at 15 stone 7.5 pounds in January when I joined Fat Fighters, and since then I have managed to claw my way down to 14 stone 11 pounds. I can’t employ my tried and tested combination of savage crash diet and gym overload (although I have lost 4 stone fast this way in the Marlboro Lights-illuminated past), not with a baby still on the boob. I do have to eat well, and illicit extras aside, I’m already a healthy eater. What I have to do is move my arse more. 30 minutes, every day, on the cross-trainer John bought me for my birthday in February, and placed (at my request) in the living room. I have been using it as a clothes airer. Cough.

You will also notice a new little widget up the top right that states my weight. I will update it daily wherever possible. If it starts to stall, then can someone give me a gentle, you know… nudge? Cheers, me dears.

*updated May 2010*

Yeah. That widget didn’t last long! And oddly enough, I am still 14st 11lbs!

 

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