If she is a size 12, i am a supermodel.

God I wish I was naturally thin.

I don’t know about you, but the word ‘diet’ makes my skin actually crawl. The word ‘gymnasium’ makes me want to shove as many salt and vinegar square crisps in to my mouth, as quickly as I possibly can until I feel like I am happily chewing on broken glass. (Anybody who loves square crisps as much as I do will know all about the pain/enjoyment factor of said square crisps.)

Both words spoken in the same sentence, and I automatically want to hide behind the sofa and sleep. I’m being honest. Just hearing them used in the same sentence exhausts me. And if you even mention the dreaded WieghtWatchers , I instinctively reach for the Revels.(A grab bag that is. Not a single bag. Obviously.)

 If I close one eye, when looking in the mirror. I can lose half of my body fat, in an instant. If I take out my contact lenses, I am transformed in a heartbeat, in to a blurry, foggy, squirming mass of gorgeousness. I can be any shape I like, and I choose waif -like please! If I close my eyes and concentrate on the fantasy; I am a size 10.

 Unfortunately though, when I have my contacts firmly stuck (usually as crispy and dry as Ryvita, the perils of being awake 23 hours a day) in both eyes. I am what I am. And it is what it is. I am a size 14. (Code for; 16, possibly an 18 on a bad day.) And right now this instant, there is nothing I can do about it. (This simple fact however, will not stop me from having a major strop, throwing all my clothes out of the wardrobe, my dummy out of the pram, giving my other half a load of abuse and bursting in to tears at any given point. It will also not stop me from ordering a Chinese later tonight either, so go figure.)

I have never ever been thin. Even at my slimmest, according to the pie chart of doom at the doctors office, I was still obese. Which at 5ft 3 and 11 stone strikes me as a bit harsh! Ok, 5ft 2 and 12 stone.. But still! There is no need to be rude!! So even when I was slim(mer) than I am now. I was still curvy. I was still voluptuous. (I hate that word!)

 It was right after the evil pilot had been knobbing the slutty hostess at 32 thousand feet  (see; once upon a time in a fairytale) that I lost a lot of weight. Seemingly, playing the part of the jilted wife made me angry, and even seemingly-er, the only time I can not eat is when I am angry. (Who knew?) So even though I was obviously devastated *reaches for tiny violin* I was actually secretly thrilled by the affect all this anger was having on my dress size. So much so, that I fraternised with it. I encouraged it. I supported it, and I invited it in to my daily routine. I was the hulk! (but thinner and less green.. ) Sponsored by starbucks.

 I drank coffee like a woman possessed. I ate nothing but fruit. Meaning, if you needed me. I was usually in the toilet. (TMI? Tough!) It was the first time in my life I was proud of my body. It was the first time in my life I felt good on the outside. It was the first time in my life I could shop in the high street shops and experiment with my style. (Everything fit me! For the first time ever!) It was also the first time in my life, it began to dawn on me, that maybe ‘the outside’ wasn’t all that mattered. (Clearly being dumped and shit on from a great height (do you see what I did there? No pun intended…much!) had inadvertently made me less shallow. Another of the very many, great lessons, I learnt that year. The most important being – never trust a pilot.)

 My body began to fall apart on me, bit by bit. It was like a modern version of Death Becomes Her. I was suffering heart palpitations, dizziness and I was prone to hot flushes and fainting. (Most embarrassing moment ever; fainting in the buff while trying to ‘impress’ my other half!) I was permanently cold and permanently paranoid! (I convinced myself over a six month period, that I had a number of different ailments, ranging from the more common of cancers, to the Ebola virus. How my other half did not have me put down I will never know. I was Annoying.com)

 And yet walking in to the doctors office with a nasty cough, (another awful side affect – I constantly had flu symptoms!) Dr. Quock took one look at me and gasped ‘Wow, look at you, Im very proud of you! Congratulations! I bet you feel so much healthier don’t you?’ (Patronizing cow.) No. Actually knob face I don’t. I may be ‘in the green’ on the pie chart. But I couldn’t be further away from ‘healthy’, than if you rammed my mouth full of lard and kicked me in the elbow. Which just goes to show, actually, how absolutely inconsequential and unimportant those pie charts are….

Getting pregnant soon put the brakes firmly on the ‘I want to be the slimmest woman that ever lived’ trip and pressed the accelerator down hard on the ‘I can eat what I want now I’m pregnant and I intend to, so fuck off’ voyage. Yes, I wanted a healthy baby, but really my actions were selfish. I just wanted to eat. It was a relief. I felt able- bodied, ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed’ (and lots of other annoying ways to describe healthy), in what felt like an instant! Safe in the knowledge that when the baby was born it would ‘drop off’ right? That’s what everyone told me!!

Turns out everyone frigging lied.

There’s me shoving chocolate down my face at a rate of knots, telling myself (with my mouth full) that it didn’t actually count. As it was pregnancy chocolate, and pregnancy chocolate magically drops off! Lying bastards.

In all honesty I have probably lost about 3 stone (code for; 2 stone) since Addison was born. Its been hard work. And I probably have another 2 (code for; 3) stone to go before I reach my ideal weight. (I hate that term. Ideal weight. Because my ‘ideal weight’ if we are being totally honest with one another here, is about 7 stone. But only so I could eat my way back up to a healthy 10 stone!) The problem though, is my lack of motivation. I am SO unmotivated.

 The way I see it, I feel healthy and I think I look half decent. Im a new mother for gods sake. (Although in all honesty, I’m not sure how much longer I will get away with that) Plus Im busy. He is teething! Donuts dont count if you eat them before the sun comes up!!

 And seriously if Vanessa Feltz can happily look the world in the eye and state she is a size 12 (lying cow!) Then So can I. (I’m also a lying cow) Because its your state of mind that’s most important isn’t it? She is happy (apart from the break down!) and I am happy (apart from the PND) so clearly being thin is a state of mind!!

In which case, I am a River Island size 10! (Which everybody knows is an 8 really….)

Sweet and sour chicken anyone?

 Or maybe a revel?


6 Comments on “If she is a size 12, i am a supermodel.

  1. Baby weight arrrrrrr, I have to smile reading this, Pregnancy related eating binges at two in the morning, I am sat on the floor stuffing as much aas I possibly can into my mouth, Do cold potatoes and Cheescake go , Oh what the the hell Im giving it a go anyway, I wonder why the six nurses are pointing out my piles at the point of delivering my daughter, We all expect the body to spring back into the shape it was befpre, no such luck All i was left with is two spare tires, and enough bingo wings to take off, I coulf take a flight myself back to the UK. New moms says walking foes the trick, I walk everywhere, Bollocks still not weight loss, But our perils of joy are worth it, my underwear cuts of my circulation, I resemble a sausage is my pre pregnancy jeans, bit its all worth it

  2. Losing weight is one of the most difficult things ever, I’ve decided. A thing that is vastly unfair, considering I put it on with great ease (and abandon). I think you’re on to something here; I recently read that a particular movie star was 5’7″ and 115 pounds. Honey, if she’s 115 pounds, then I’m off to armwrestle Gisele for control of the runway. (I’ll share my modeling millions with you.)

  3. I love this post – I thought I’d heard all the ‘reasons I can’t do anything about it today’ (sorry, it’s my job!) but ‘donuts eaten before sunrise don’t count’ is by far & away my favourite! Do something about it when (& if) you really want to, but don’t beat yourself up about it – you’ve got enough on your plate (forgive the pun). And no, there is no WAY she is a 12 😉

  4. I literally laughed out loud at the ‘seven stone to get back up to ten stone’ bit – you have a real knack for writing things that are *so true*!

    It’s hard, though, isn’t it? After my first baby I did lose the weight really quickly and in fact ended up slimmer than before. I was sure it was down to all the breastfeeding, but it turns out I must have been doing something else too as this time it’s clinging on and I’m feeding just as much. I think maybe the problem is that so many of my walks now are at toddler pace. Also I think that I lost weight at first because I was eating really well to help my post-birth piles. Now that I’m back to eating loads of crap, it’s a real pain in the arse.

    I think Kate’s words are very wise and totally agree – I just need to start putting it into action!

  5. Brilliant blog – very witty & very poignant. The most important thing is that you and your baby are healthy & happy (PND) not withstanding. Weight & size will happen when the time is right. I lost 6 stones a couple of years ago & it ever so slightly freaked me out to see the scales creeping back up while I was pregnant, but a baby is the world’s best reason ever to gain weight – who would swop back? Not me, that’s for sure.
    Now are there any Revels left in that bag? And a venti peppermint mocha to wash them down with please 😉

  6. You know what? Lose weight when you are feeling motivated, not because you think you have to. I fall off waggons pretty quick when my head is not in the right place. It is a long, long, long old haul and it’s so much easier if you view it as a longer term change of lifestyle rather than a short, sharp shock. It’s healthier for a start – you can eat most things IN MODERATION (key words) and the odd slip up doesn’t matter because you know you will get back on the waggon straight away.

    Go easy on yourself – PND doesn’t help and your baby is still v young. It’s taking me until my kids are older to truly lose the baby weight. Missy is 4 now. :0

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