Wednesday, 23 May 2012

Fattening myself up.

Free Stock Photo: Close-up of feet standing on a scale

Aaah fat.  My ever constant companion.  Wrapping itself around my middle, flowing gently over the tops of my trousers.

I was a fat kid.  And a fat teenager.  Then I was a skinny teenager but I never realised it until I saw photos of myself and realised I had been skinny after all but I thought I was fat...damn.  

I am blessed (?) with a husband who just keeps on eating whatever he wants and looks almost the same as he did 20 years ago when I met him.  Bastard.  He loves to eat a whole packet of Smiths chips.  The big packet you'd take to a BBQ for ten people to share.

Fun Fact: If you ate one of those on your own, you'd have to do a half marathon to burn off the calories.  Unless you're Mike, then you don't.

Through my 20's I was a weight yo-yo.  

When I was pregnant, I ate for Australia.  Talk about embracing the eating for two thing.  It was my mantra.  And my downfall.  Because once 3kg Sarah was gone, there was still an awful lot of me left behind.  Even counting my enormous boobs.  

I never lost that baby weight, and when pregnant with Josh, I just kept on eating.  All the way up to 72kg.  

When he was 6 months old, I did Weight Watchers.  At first it was hell, then it was great.  It was so easy. I'd been eating so much crap, that once I changed my mindset, the kgs just vanished.  I was breastfeeding a very hungry boy too, and I kept on eating heaps, just fruit and veg instead of cakes and chocolate. 

All the way down to 57kg.  Which was a bit skinny and made me look a bit drawn.  I wasn't unhappy when I crept back up to 58 which is my official "goal weight". 

I cannot tell you how great I felt and what it did to my self esteem, and how much I loved shopping for clothes and how happy I felt when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and how supportive and admiring all my friends were.  

It. Was. Fabulous.  

And it stayed off.

For a while. 

Because when you have little tiny kids, you NEVER sit down.  Except to breastfeed, or driving the car.  And when you're on your feet, carrying, lifting, walking, dragging, negotiating (I do a lot of this, surely it's calorie burning?) for 12+ hours a day, the odd indulgence (ok chocolate every night after dinner) doesn't stick.  

But then they get older, and go to school, and instead of walking around the zoo, or chasing them around a park, or trawling the shops,  I sit on my bum every chance I get, and look at my computer screen.  Hello 3 kgs.   

These days I have to plan exercise around everyone else's complex timetables, so I jog (free, no fuss, no gym schedule).  I run and run to keep myself fit and help burn off some of this extra food I seem to be enjoying.

But that makes me hungry, so I eat and eat.  Taste test the dinner, eat the kids leftovers, plus my own (too large) meal.  Chocolate.   Cupcake/muffin/finger bun remainders. 

And of course, cheese and bickies and bubbles.  Who could forget those.  

Skinny jeans, my arse, fat jeans anyone?