There's only one weigh I can feel good again
This week the battle lines have well and truly been drawn.
Me versus the flab. Yes, I've decided that I no longer want to lie down to do up my jeans.
And I really can't blame the baby for the weight – after all it's been three years since the last one.
So after a day when I could find nothing in the wardrobe that fitted me, and I almost passed out from exhaustion in my gym class, I've decided enough is enough.
I now realise that I'm not 18 any more, stick thin and able to eat an entire restaurant menu without gaining a pound. Now I only have to look at a piece of cake and I put on three.
However, I still want to be able chase my kids around without fear of cardiac arrest.
I want to jump up and down with them on the trampoline without fear of collapse – that's the trampoline not me (or maybe it might be, who knows?).
And I really want to go swimming without wobbling my way quickly into the pool fearing that people will know I'm deliberately carrying a child to hide my tummy.
So, please don't tell anyone, but I've put myself on a strict healthy eating diet. There I said it – diet.
As of a couple of days ago I'm now a changed mum. Now it's all about the cauliflower not the cake, it's about the water not the wine, and it's the tennis not the telly.
Now don't expect to be kept updated on my progress. It may take years. I may occasionally fall flat on my face, preferably into a plate of lovely yummy chocolate – but I probably won't tell you when I do.
But I might share with you if something out of the ordinary happens and I shed a couple of pounds or so.
So with determination and a few handy recipes, things are already getting better.
This week I proudly marched around the supermarket with a trolley brimming with fruit and veg – and not just for the children. And there wasn't a bottle of wine in sight (hashtag sad face for you Twitterers).
I've embraced the veg.
I've embraced low fat foods.
I've embraced . . . soda water. (except on Saturdays. Oh come on, it is Saturday.)
And you know what? I am starting to feel a teeny better already although I've still got a long way to go until I'm the Duchess of Cambridge.
And the healthy bug is catching. Even the children have joined in mummy's battle with the bulge (daddy, meanwhile, maintains a low profile)
They are now demanding the fruit salad I eat for breakfast. They want melon for pud and they even want blueberries on their cereal (which were disgusting before). And it's little wonder that the supermarkets can keep up with their demand for yogurts.
There's only one downside.
They've become my food police.
They tell me off if anything naughty appears in the shopping trolley and order me to put it back – unless, of course, it's for them.
And they gently tease me about my jelly belly. Gawd bless 'em.
But onwards and upwards (not upwards on the scales preferably please and thank you).
Let the battle with the flab commence.
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