I’ve talked about this before. When Iris came along.
Now I’ve gone and had two babies in less than two years, and I feel battered. A million billion miles from the person I was before.
Before I got pregnant with Iris I was one of those people that spends all of the spare time at the gym. On reflection, I was deeply unhappy. Before Trevor there was a relationship where I was completely ignored. I felt so unwanted and convinced myself it was a physical thing. As in, my physical appearance made me unloveable.
As a result I was the fittest I had ever been. I attended 6am spinning classes before my 10 hour shifts. I calorie counted. I lived on juice diets and salads.
I was a size 8, and seriously unhappy with how I looked.
I’m now a size 14 and seriously unhappy with how I look.
Just goes to show that actually size has very little to do with it.
I don’t care what the label in my clothes says. I don’t care what the scales say. I don’t care what people say about me. I refuse to hate my body anymore.
However, I still feel like shit.
I’m sluggish, tired, achey, uncomfortable.
It has to change.
I’ve been twice now to a dance class that you can take small children along to, and I have really enjoyed it. I’ve been reminded of that post-exercise feeling that I was once addicted to. It’s a great feeling. Like a tired glow.
It’s not easy to fit exercise in when you spend every minute with a toddler and a baby. It’s not easy to eat healthily when you’re left feeling drained from breastfeeding and very little sleep. I need chocolate. I crave sugar so much.
It’s not just that.
After you have kids everything changes. There’s the stretch marks. I don’t dislike them. I just don’t expect to see them in the mirror. This body doesn’t look like my body anymore and it’s hard to get my head around. My boobs were once tiny and are now huge. And they leak. My old favourite styles of jeans cut into my hip fat and look weird. I have no idea what clothes suit this new shape. I don’t know how to get dressed.
I did Slimming World once before but don’t think it’s for me. I don’t want to miss the kid’s bedtime every Tuesday because I’m sat around listening to recipes for Diet Coke chicken. I’m not sure how to make it work for a veggie who doesn’t like dairy products much.
I get obsessive about it. That’s the trouble. I’m fragile enough without making things worse.
I feel so stuck with this. I really have no idea how to help myself.
But help myself I must.
So tomorrow things change. Tomorrow I start taking better care of myself.