And here's another one from the archives (!). What's getting a teeny bit worrying now though is that with all this time passing, I don't seem to have moved much at all. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...
Third strike and I’m out. LittleE has just celebrated her first birthday and I am pooped. Everything from the waist down is caput. And what the hell is the deal with this belly bulge? Wasn’t this thing supposed to disappear after 9 months? Isn't that what they say; nine months to make, nine months to shake? Not so, my fellow population creators, it’s not shifting in the slightest. Okay, so I haven’t been exercising at all, and due to my Lent reducing trips to local takeaways I've been mainlining chocolate before Easter. But still, I am running the length and breadth of West London like the proverbial chicken sans head; so you’d think that would relieve some of the waist wobbles.
With BigL and MiddleS I did a bit of buggy fit, dragged myself to the pool with the kids occasionally but to be honest, it was the full time working and trying to juggle office, other half and offspring that shed the stones, okay, pounds. But before you assume I’m heading down the well trodden route of blaming celebrity mums who drop their baby weight before the first nappy is changed, I’m choosing a different path. If I had a team of on-hand parent, personal trainer, stylist, assistant, nanny – yeah I’d be spending 2 hours a day at some gorgeous gym to sweat it out too – albeit in the sauna but you get the idea. So who can blame them, really?
No, with the arrival and incredibly speedy aging of my last baby I’ve found my spare tyre a bit of comfort and I quite clearly am still using this child as my excuse for that extra spoon of mac n’ cheese or, God forbid, dessert. And so what? I’ve spent most of teens and twenties not even realising what I had, and then my thirties arrived and have almost disappeared with a forever swelling and deflating tummy with each pregnancy. Between stylish maternity outfits and stretchy tracksuit pants I have neglected my wardrobe as I don’t know what size I am, what style suits me and even what colour I like anymore. I entered this motherhood lark at 32, back then I would work a sharp suit splashed with colour alongside funky tees and skinny jeans any day of the week. And this girl could even brush up well in a LBD. However, she exited stage left lickety split and in came one desperately-trying-hard-to-be-yummy-mummy-but-succeeding-as-glum-mum dressed head to toe in rainy day grey.
So what’s the answer? Accept my time as fashion siren is over, and step into drudgery with grace, or do I keep scouring the style pages for the perfect wiggle dress? You know, if I had a millisecond I’d think about it…now where are my comfy clothes?
Why oh why do put myself through this agony? 40 and I still haven't worked this one out yet? Everything in moderation right, tracksuits for the gym and the front room - not Tesco's. And always have something fab to whip out on that once a year date night.
Goodnight London, wherever you are.