In the glorious wobble-free days before baby, I have been known to be a little obsessed with exercise. I used to run before work, go for a swim after work and spent my lunch breaks on a reformer. Now, if you are thinking I would have been getting steamy with a protestant in between finishing […]
Over the summer, a wave of articles that celebrated the end of size zero and therefore the reintroduction of womanly curves appeared in about every British women’s magazine. But despite various attempts to put an end to glorifying the image of malnourished women, recent fashion week reports and magazines alike are still plastered with pictures of clearly underweight models.
Having renovated a house recently, I can honestly say that watching paint dry is more exciting than attempting to diet. The last diet (remember Fat Smash: peas and lentils and lentils and peas) was ditched after four days. Four days! Instead we went to New York and tucked into pancakes (sky-high pancake piles soaked in maple syrup, accompanied by fried eggs and bacon), pizza and gigantic chocolate chip cookies. Only to be followed by the New England diet, i.e. lobsters and melted butter, corn on the cob and pumpkin pie. I know this is going to surprise you, but I STILL haven’t lost those last three pounds.
To encourage further shrinkage, I have recently replaced my beloved Pain au Chocolat with muesli for breakfast. So when I absent-mindedly read the text on the muesli box, the scales fell from my eyes. (!) My diet was missing an essential ingredient. And these folks even have the nerves to boast about not having it in their product. At all.
I had a breakthrough yesterday. I am back in my jeans! Ok, only in those that used to fit the loosest, but it is a start.
Two weeks of stuffing myself with white bread and butter left me feeling a little bloated, to say the least. I didn’t want to be a killjoy, but I also didn’t want to demotivate my dieting self. That’s why I didn’t hit the scales when I came back form our delicious vacation. I am not as brave as Fab Brunette, sorry guys!
Two weeks on Île de Ré, and not only did I gain a tan, but also a few extra inches around the waist. My trousers appear to hug my hips in a tight embrace. The two stick together like first time lovesick teenagers. Let’s hope this summer romance isn’t more than a short-lived fling. You ask how this could happen? An analysis of photo material should bring light into this sombre affair.
Don’t worry. It hasn’t hit us. I am just trying to come up with a sensible plan to keep it as far away from us as possible. And if that means I am going to sit on my 5 extra pounds for a little longer, so it shall be.
Another week, another visitor, another BBQ. My beloved brother stayed with us over the weekend. Of course, being the doted hostess, I scrapped my diet plans and feasted along. To be honest, I am not on a diet anyway.
Haven’t you heard? Thursday is the new Wednesday, yippee! As I forgot to step on the scales yesterday, I am making up for it today with my weekly flabloss post.
And no, I have no idea who was cheeky enough to place a jar of REAL mayonnaise on the table.
On the fitness front, I am more than proud of myself. Went to another class of mummy & me yoga. Joined the gym. Parked little L in the crèche for 60 minutes twice in one week. Didn’t start to cry when handing her over to the carers. And only once jumped hysterically out of the pool and ran dripping wet to soothe my allegedly mummy-missing baby after misinterpreting an announcement. To my defence: the speakers are rubbish, I had water in my ears and the girl behind the micro was chewing on a blanket, it seemed.