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.
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