Last week temperatures in the UK soared, much to our delight. However I found myself in the unfortunate position of having no Summer clothes that fit. All my summer maternity clothes are in France and having migrated out of Maternity clothes I don't want to go back in them.
It's 4 months since Maisy was born and whilst I have lost some of the baby weight, it is fair to say that I was extremely lucky with my first 2 pregnancies, both in that I didn't gain a huge amount of extra weight other than baby and I lost it within months of giving birth. This time round however it has caught up on me and I now am carrying around 10 kilos surplus weight around. I can put 2 kilos down to my Jordanesque sized chest (well one side anyway) and maybe 500g as I haven't had my hair cut in 6 months...but that leaves around 7.5 kilos of...well...excess chocolate eclairs that should not be there.
Many a friend have said to me " it took 9m to put it on so it should take 9m to come off" great, thanks, that momentarily makes me feel better but when I have nothing to wear each morning, I feel, well, pretty naffed off and sorry for myself to be honest.
So I decided to hit the shops and buy some 'interim' clothes until such time that I shed my eclair derriere and get rid of those Nandos chicken bingo wings. Now you would think that logic would determine I buy the next size up of clothes given my predicament right? Well no, stupid, blonde, post baby, desparate to be back in a size 12 again, female logic meant I bought a 12. I can't try things on in the shop as I have a 4m old strapped to me, an 18m old swiping items off the shelves from her pushchair and a 3 year old magpie attracted to everything that glitters & shines. So I took my size 12's happily away with the intention of trying them on at the flat when hubby got home.
Of course, they didn't fit.
Hubby's helpful comment - "what was the point of buying a 12 if none of your other clothes which are a size 12 fit?" Fair point Mr Fitz but not what I wanted to hear.
So Sunday he took me shopping and I rather reluctantly purchased a number of Size 14 items of clothing. I'm not quite sure why the number means so much. It just seems to be something to stress about, to focus on, rather than whether the clothes look & more importantly feel nice & flattering. I'm a numbers girl though (yes I did Accountancy - dull huh!)
Anyway having been treated by Mr Fitz I also invested in a pedometer. I'm going to try to turn my obsession with numbers to how many steps I take in a day rather than what size I am. So apparently we should do 10,000 steps a day. Today is my first day - so far I've done 2500ish by siesta time after what I would consider a fairly active morning running around doing jobs, chasing girls, pushing them around in their little car/on their trikes outside & I've only managed a quarter of my daily target.
So if I don't blog for a while it will probably be because I'm on my way to Dover as it seems the only way I'll get my 10,000 steps is to go for a bloody long walk each day. Wish me luck.