I have to lose weight.
Not that I want to, or even need to, but because I have to. I don’t go out much, mostly from choice, but there’s this event on the 17th of October that I want to attend. The notice I was given was very short, and ordinarily I would have seized upon this as an excuse not to go, but on this occasion, it happens that I really do want to go.
And there is this outfit I want to wear. But the skirt’s a bit too tight. I reckon that if I hold my breath and suck in my thighs (if such a thing were humanly possible), I just might be able to pull up the zipper. But what then if I decide to move? Or dare sit down? I have no doubt that if I attempt to perform any of the aforementioned actions, I would immediately realise my posterior is being ventilated in a way not originally intended by the skirt’s tailor.
This tailor made me five beautiful outfits, skirts and tops, and they are unique. Unique in the sense that even though he used the exact same measurements (so I’d like to believe), every single one of them fits differently. Some tops are tighter than the others, ditto the skirts, and not correspondingly so. And since they are made from distinctly different pieces of African print fabric, there is no question of mixing and matching tops and skirts. Except if I wish to make an unscheduled appearance as the event’s entertainer.
Thanks to Ebaby, I know there is no way I will be able to fit into the tight tops, at least not till around July/August next year when she relinquishes her hold on me and moves on to the cows. So that narrows my choices down to the skirts whose tops fit. Or should that be skirt? For as I type, only one skirt fits the bill. Never mind that the top is completely impractical when it comes to Ebaby and her requirements, but that is neither here nor there.
So on to this weight, and how I intend to lose it. My dear friend has recently gained some weight, and is ecstatic. I wish I could say the same for myself. I digress. I can not diet, simply because I am solely responsible for Ebaby’s nutrition, and I want to ensure she has the best start ever as she begins to climb up the food ladder. Also, babies are very determined beings. If you do not meet their needs by eating properly, they literally leach the nutrients they need from your body. Yes o, they will suck and suck till your body converts something vital to your well being into milk, just so baby’s needs are met. Believe. So for that reason, dieting is out.
Exercise? Nay. The last time I was in a gym was almost 10 years ago, when I decided I wanted to be slim like Kate Moss for my wedding, and yes, I succeeded. Somehow, losing weight to get into a skirt for someone else’s big day just doesn’t carry enough conviction to get me back into a gym. I could go for walks abi? But have you seen this our weather? It’s been raining on and off since Monday. Plus by the time I get Ebaby into her buggy, and marshall Etoddler towards the door, I’ll be exhausted already, which would kind of defeat the purpose.
Which has led me to the reluctant conclusion that I must change my eating habits, which are very bad even if I say so myself. So I have now resolved not to eat anything after 7pm. In the past, eating dinner at 9.30, 10pm, was no big deal as there wasn’t a particular skirt I needed to fit into. T tends to eat late, and I feel it’s only right to keep him company by eating late too. The main difference between us is that he is very active. He cycles to and from the station every morning and evening. He is very fit, not an ounce of spare flesh on his frame. So he can afford to eat at whatever time he pleases. Me, I can’t. The new and improved me started down the life altering path of early dining on Monday, and it has been very very hard.
On Monday evening, I had dinner with the girls, we finished eating just before 7 or so. When T wad eating his dinner round about 9, it felt like I was being tortured as the aroma of home cooked lasagna wafted across to me from the dining room. Unable to bear it any longer, I dashed to the freezer and helped myself to a chocolate ice lolly
Yesterday, as he ate sweet potatoes and stew, it was time for another dash to the kitchen, this time for a bottle of supermalt.
Today, I just know I would have to eat a packet of plantain crisps. In fact, I will do so once I have posted this. I will not even wait for him to start eating. If that doesn’t fill me, then I will have an apple. Or another chocolate ice lolly. It doesn’t help that I am watching Masterchef The Professionals at the moment.
The skirt must fit.