Two weeks on Île de Ré, and not only did I gain a tan, but also a few extra inches around the waist. My trousers appear to hug my hips in a tight embrace. The two stick together like first time lovesick teenagers. Let’s hope this summer romance isn’t more than a short-lived fling. You ask how this could happen? An analysis of photo material should bring light into this sombre affair.
Don’t worry. It hasn’t hit us. I am just trying to come up with a sensible plan to keep it as far away from us as possible. And if that means I am going to sit on my 5 extra pounds for a little longer, so it shall be.
Another week, another visitor, another BBQ. My beloved brother stayed with us over the weekend. Of course, being the doted hostess, I scrapped my diet plans and feasted along. To be honest, I am not on a diet anyway.
My sister has been over to visit for a few days. Not the time for calorie counting; rather for barbeques with buttered corn on the cob, juicy sirloin steaks and fresh baguette. Also, being an older sibling and thus a role model, I didn’t want to obsess about food and had the best excuse not […]
Haven’t you heard? Thursday is the new Wednesday, yippee! As I forgot to step on the scales yesterday, I am making up for it today with my weekly flabloss post.
And no, I have no idea who was cheeky enough to place a jar of REAL mayonnaise on the table.
On the fitness front, I am more than proud of myself. Went to another class of mummy & me yoga. Joined the gym. Parked little L in the crèche for 60 minutes twice in one week. Didn’t start to cry when handing her over to the carers. And only once jumped hysterically out of the pool and ran dripping wet to soothe my allegedly mummy-missing baby after misinterpreting an announcement. To my defence: the speakers are rubbish, I had water in my ears and the girl behind the micro was chewing on a blanket, it seemed.
Hurray! I found a nice gym with a nice crèche. So nice in fact, that I’d rather spent my hours sitting in the crèche than on the gym floor, but I guess I have to grow up here. I will have my fitness assessment (uh-oh…) tomorrow, and for the first time in her short life, little L will be looked after by strangers for a total of 60 minutes. If mummy doesn’t burst into tears and rescues her before the time is up, that is.
What? It’s Wednesday again? Where has the week gone? I blame my virtual absence on the great weather and the fact that I got more confident in taking little L out. We had a blast attending coffee mornings, picnics and going for walks. Almost bursting with pride, I paraded my beautiful social butterfly in her pram, dressed to the nines in Petit Bateau (little L, not me), making the most of the sunny days. Well, almost.
Let’s call this first week ‘awareness week’. I was pretty aware of all the nasties that made their way into my stomach.
However, thanks to one of the best diet boosters ever, I managed to shrink a little. Despite being totally off our usual schedule – we went to Germany last weekend to introduce little L to her great grandma – and a long car journey that made us pass France (pain au chocolat & sandwich jambon, fromage, beurre) and Belgium (waffles and chocolate), and finally guided us to our final destination, Germany, land of the Jaegerschnitzel. And did you know that there is a range of Ferrero chocolate snacks that are exclusively available in Germany? Of course, I had them all.
Little L was six weeks yesterday, and so is my scar. I went to see my GP on Monday, and here is the verdict: Everything hunky dory, I can get pregnant again. Hooorray! Only kidding.
Six weeks of sitting on the sofa, stuffing my face with chocolates and ice cream – all with the excuse of having had a caesarean – have come to an end. In fact, I couldn’t move much right after surgery. But even though I could have been more mobile recently, I just haven’t upped my speed or the amount of moving around at all.
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