I am going to tell you about the things that are pissing me off. I intend to enumerate all my anguished trivialities, so feel free to skip this one and come back another day when I’m chirpier.

I have been immovably stuck on 14st4 for nearly two weeks, despite being very restrained, and really had my heart very much set on being 13st-something for Harry’s birthday. I felt as if the psychological boost might make me more inclined to actually be photographed with my son, and I would love a nice photo of the two of us together. I think there’s only about 6 photos of us both in existence. There are no photos at all of the three of us together, because that would mean ceding power of image-capture to a fourth person.

This last week I’ve tried so hard. I’ve been so good. I’ve skipped my main meal three times in favour of bloody weetabix; in fact, I’ve cut my food intake quite ridiculously low. On Saturday and Sunday I sweated like a navvy, wielding a blunt spade on unyielding clay. I got on the scales last night to find I was a pound heavier. I’ve got on them again several times today, just in case there was some dreadful mistake, but no. I haven’t been this savagely angry with my body since it was persistently refusing to either downregulate, ovulate, conceive, or stop killing babies. I have cried about my weight 3 times today, and might not be finished yet.

Not only has cutting down on my food intake failed miserably to shift a single ounce, it became apparent this morning that my boobs were sagging limply like a pair of empty sacks: I’d been so intent on eating less that I forgot to consider my milk supply. Poor Harry was thirsty, and sucking so hard that he had hollow cheeks. This is not my intended weaning strategy, and the thought of my only-barely-on-his-growth-chart-line son not getting his vital milk because I’ve been a stupid twat, is upsetting me. I am now awash with the copious liquid and rather more substantial spag bol I have eaten.

The current Met Office forecast over our house for Friday:

Date Time Weather  Temp  Wind Visibility
Day Heavy Rain Shower 23°C SSW 13 mph   Poor
Night Heavy Rain Shower 15°C SW 12 mph   Poor

Only their symbol for tropical storms has more raindrops. The garden party is obviously a washout, so I will therefore have invited 20 babies and 18 mothers into my lounge. Imagine how pleased I am with myself.

The EWCM that I mentioned a few posts back? What a waste of some perfectly good soul-searching. I started spotting a day or so later, and things are now working – very slowly – up into a proper period. The length of intro is highly suggestive that here is another 70-day humdinger of a bleed.

Whilst finishing the black-out blind for Harry’s room – he will move to his nursery soon – late on Saturday night, I managed to get about a dozen glass fibre splinters into my fingers, and both my thumbs. Seriously, who was the moron who decided to make the rods for roman blinds out of glass fibre? Bring me his freshly-severed head. I wish to stick pins in it.

My ezcema has flared up wildly since the weekend, and I have a particularly irritating rash developed under my (aforementioned sacklike and sagging) boobs. I look so classy when I scratch it. 

I have to haul Harry and myself into town early tomorrow, along with the appalling rush-hour traffic, in order for the optician to peer at my left eye. I appear to have some sort of bacterial nasty living in there, as my monthly-wear contacts are becoming fogged with immovable cloudy deposit shortly after insertion. I suspect he will send me on to our GP, who will do nothing.

It is the kind of day that would, in times gone past, have sent me to bed in disgust with a good book and a plate piled high with nice things, in search of some perspective. Except it’s hotter than Hades here tonight and the bedroom is absurdly stuffy. The plate of nice things A) would not solve my misery, rather the reverse, and B) are non-fucking-existent because I purged the cupboards weeks ago of anything illicit. (I did, however, eye up the cooking chocolate I have bought for Harry’s birthday cake.) And there’s still a baby sleeping in our room who has the hearing of a sodding spaniel if you open that tasty pack of crisps I haven’t bloody got.

Quite a few people love me and, to the best of my belief, no-one hates me, but I am still going down the garden to eat some worms. I hear they’re low on fat.


12 Responses

  1. One word for you: Spanx. Seriously – have saved my (not so small) ass on a couple of occaisions. Sadly they don’t make a whole body version but they will make you feel like a sausage in a sausage factory but they will make you look a good size smaller!

    I would live in them if I could! (although the peeing without pulling your pants down thing takes some getting used to!)

    Hang in there with everything else. You have wowed and amazed us all with your beautiful cakes and your charm I’m sure the party will be a bloomin’ success and you the beautiful and charming hostess! xoxo

  2. Spanx?!
    Am intrigued & will Google!

  3. Weight-loss is like that. You starve and exercise and starve and exercise and eat rice-cakes (or, the devil’s polystyrene coasters) and then your favourite trousers are TOO BLOODY TIGHT. Ah, if only then one could lie on a sun-lounger and eat cake and miraculously mislay half-a-stone, but the universe hasn’t heard of proper narrative irony yet and is only doing the nyar-nyar version.

    As for everything else, if I were you I’d be flat on my back on the sofa drinking gin and eating frozen peas out of the bag, refusing to budge and shouting rude remarks about having the party in the bloody rain because no one on earth is worthy of making me get up and hoover after that kind of day…

    Shall I chocolate-coat your worms for you? Then you could pretend they were Duchy’s Original Orange Peel.

  4. First of all, can you, May and myself get a house together?

    Second issue – weight loss is such a bastard, and I totally feel your pain. I have been eating very healthily for a couple of months now, and I’ve lost jack. In fact, I’ve lost less than jack. Cheers PCOS! So yeah, no advice here, just commiseration. I’m really helpful, I know.

  5. Sounds bloody miserable. I would be beside myself about the weather, too. Re the weight loss, it’s just bloody hard. I stuck at a similar weight between november and march and it really totally pissed me off. I dunno what got the weight loss going again, it came off pound by pound. Oh yes, I remember. Stopping breastfeeding. I was just so bloody hungry when breastfeeding and since I stopped the weight has crept off a bit. Not that I’m not still fat, but I’m a bit less fat. I hope it will do the same for you, whenever you decide to stop.

    And I second the control pants. Don’t have spanx but I do have some DKNY ones which work pretty well.

    Sorry to hear things are a bit crappy.

  6. It is totally frustrating and infuriating to put in dietary and exercise effort for days, nay, weeks on end and get no real result for it. Just know you are not alone in this. Our bodies get used to the higher weight and expend every possible effort to prevent you from dropping below it. Add hormonal interference, like PCOS, and it is most definitely, WOE! And CRAP! And sobbing over the scales first thing every morning.

    Wish I had the answer so I could be a diet book millionaire along with the rest of them but after years of futile effort by me and others who, in a previous professional capacity , I delivered nutrition education to, there is only one sure way. It is painfully slow, which given my natural tendency to extreme impatience, creates it’s own problems. And it involves low GI eating and consistent energy expenditure. It’s taken me 7 months to lose 8kg. (Eyes crossed and large, loud sigh). And there are many, many days when nothing much seems to change on the scale.

    Happy to go into detail if you want. Just email me.

    Just forget starving and be good to yourself. You are more than the number on the scale. Much more.

  7. If it were me I would just chalk it up to my metabolism being made too low by eating way too little and indulge in a chocolate bar or ten. It sounds good anyway, right? …Seriously, it sounds as if you have been really working hard and eventually that plateau will go away and it will come off again, but I am sorry it’s overshadowing the birthday party. I hope you’re able to shake off those thoughts and have all the pictures you like taken with Harry.

    I don’t know if this will cheer you up or just have you looking over your shoulder for stalkers, but I wanted to tell you I have been loving your site. Your writing is interesting, wonderful, and hilarious, and I find myself looking forward to your updates. That said, I hope the humor is easier to find in the next one!

  8. You are having a rough one!!!
    I have found that I have to eat in order to lose weight… not junk mind you, but I have to eat several small and healthy meals throughout the day (2-3 hours apart) in order to speed up my metabolism and shed the pounds. I know it’s so hard, especially after the baby, but I hope you can find something that works for you-you should have a million photos of you with that little bugger!
    Hope things get better..

  9. I am basking in the glow of internet love and feelin’ better!

  10. good god, you poor dear. I’m sorry about all the bad stuff happening at once. If it makes you feel any better, the IVF drugs made me bloated and now that I haven’t been on any for a week, I’m still bloated. I think it’s actual fat! waaaahhh!! And I’m sure it’s more than one pound.

    I am imagining classy you scratching under your sacklike boobies. That’s a good image. 🙂

  11. My Skin has gone to pot as well. I’ll bring the worms if you bring the chocolate.

  12. […] topic again. Concerning which there have been too many posts, I know, but until I figure out which one of you bastards made me fat how to take responsibility […]

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