‘Mummy’s having a baby!’ announced my six year old to the entire queue of Tesco’s.
‘Ah! Congratulations dear!’ said one lovely lady, gazing at my tummy with affection, as another patted it.
Ummmm…I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I had packed on a few pounds, you know, like over the holidays. A beer here, two glasses of wine there, evidently it all adds up very, very quickly.
When I took my youngest aside, and told him that there was no baby en-route, he just nodded, stared at my belly and said, ‘I know, but it looks like there is!’ Ah. I see. Uh-Huh. Okey dokey. Time to put Plan ABCD and E in motion asap. Nothing like a child to give it to you straight.
I won’t lie, since number three came along, my body has changed substantially. The hips have widened, and the weight has taken longer to fall off than it did, with the other two.
For many years, I spoke of my ‘newborn’ as he walked and talked, regaling me with updates about the new Star Wars, and asking if we could we pop up to Smyths to buy a toy. Ehhh…Wake up call!
It took me a long time to give up my maternity jeans, and can I just say that elastic waists should be on EVERYTHING!! My God it’s like wearing a hug. Comfy, soft and the wider the better!
Lack of control may have something to do with it too though. If there’s a packet of Jaffa cakes in the cupboard, and the kids want one – they receive one and only one – if they come back and ask for another? Oops! Too late, they’re all gone!
And so, it was with grand determination that I booked a spinning class and decided enough was enough. Everything has to go!
Wearing funky leggings and a cute workout top, I was pumped, and I must admit, looking quite the athlete. Off I ventured with my super-duper looking water bottle, loaded with lemons, to detox as I cycled. Oh and a towel, for the excessive sweating. Hell yeah, I was ready to rumble!
Forty-five minutes later, a red faced, puffed up, practically not breathing, wanting to puke, version of myself, exited the building. Five minutes into the session, I finished my water, (that’s what happens when you cycle like a maniac) and my throat was parched and the legs were ready to fall off. Plus the rave music hurt my ears. I took a side glance at myself in the mirror as I waved goodbye to the receptionist and my post-natal baby fat of six years.
‘See you Friday!’ I smiled. No pain no gain, and one thing is certain – I am done with gain!