I’ve never classed myself as small, which could be a typical girl thing, but I have always been able to fit into my size 10 skinny jeans (even up to 20 weeks pregnant with Amelia!) so today was a really depressing day for me.
For the past 14 or so months since I was pregnant with Max and then since he’s been born I have been hiding away in my rather tatty and dirty looking maternity jeans turning a blind eye to the inevitable truth. I felt safe in my maternity jeans and whilst squeezing into a size 12/14 I was convincing myself that I hadn’t gotten much bigger that my pre baby body.
Today the truth was revealed and to be honest it smashed me right in the face like a double decker bus and had depressed the crap out of me.
With Christmas coming up and jack at a loss for what to buy me he took one look at my tatty, holey and dirty safe maternity jeans and put his foot down – I needed to reintegrate myself into the world of non maternity jeans and finally get some more.
(Stay with me, we’re finally at the reason for this post)
I picked up a size 14 and went to the changing rooms feeling pretty gutted that I was actually in need of a size 14 of anything. After an attempt at getting them on with no hope I summoned jack to hunt me down a *gulp* size 16. I kid you not I couldn’t even get the words out! After thinking I could possibly get away with these and daring to show jack, it turned out that actually. I needed a size 18.
I won’t lie I did actually cry a bit.
Not because there’s anything wrong with being a size 18, but because I hadn’t even realised my lack of self control and over indulgence had gotten this far and this out of hand.
I feel like a lump. Like a fat and frumpy mess.
It has made me realise that’s not only how I feel but also how I look to everybody else (again possibly the crazy typical girl psychological stuff but that’s how I feel.
My logic is this: I exercise for almost two hours whilst shedding blood, sweat and tears (occasionally all three (damn you sofa!!) avoid the chocolate bowl all day and then look in the mirror expecting to see Kim K looking back at me.
I’m pretty defeatist lately, and not just when it comes to losing weight. Seeing my still very frumpy (and now also grumpy) frame looking back at me it puts me in a right huff and makes me want to bathe in chocolate and I’ll most likely spend the rest of the evening hugging the chocolate bowl whilst devouring its contents (Make sense? Nope didn’t think so!)
I suppose I’ll be fighting a losing battle over the Christmas period but I’m feeling a little bit more determined to shift some of this extra baggage and bring my size 10 skinny jeans back out of retirement.