Weight’s a funny old thing, isn’t it? So subjective, and such an emotive subject for a lot of women.
I’m just now down to 10st (well, and three pounds, but what’s a few lbs between friends, shh) after a strict regime of wine, chocolate and a week of takeaways. I think it can be mostly attributed to breastfeeding, really. Whatever the reason, I’m very happy. Ten stone is a good weight for me, I have curves but not rolls, I still have boobs, and I have a waist. According to BMI calculators it makes me overweight at five foot two. I think that’s a bit, er, rubbish.
When I was about 23, after the Boy but before the Pie, embarking on my disastrous first marriage, I was eight stone something. I looked ill. Well, with hindsight I WAS ill. Mostly getting by on a cocktail of super noodles and amphetamines, and dancing for six hours straight every Friday night. I had no breasts to speak of and my hip bones showed.
By the time I’d met the Lovely Rock God four years later, a year after my divorce, I’d smartened up my act. I was now a healthy eating, walking everywhere, nine hours of sleep a night Picture Of Health at nine and a half stone. Looking back at photos from then (god I looked young five years ago), I was bright eyed, clear skinned, full of energy. Things were really good for me, I’d had a year on my own with The Chums, working at Mothercare (I really loved that job) and studying Psychology. I didnt’ drive in those days and used to walk about five miles a day to nursery and work.
Over the next couple of years, living with RG (and it was GOOD living), I crept up to about ten and a half, sometimes eleven stone. Weirdly, a couple of years ago we walked 100k for charity and despite training for six months, I still stayed at ten and a half stone. Healthy, but not lean or trim. By now I was driving and eating a lot more as my appetite grew to match RGs. Well, nearly. He’s a metabolic anomaly who eats like a gannet and has a twenty eight inch waist. Gorgeous man.
Anyway. Five months ago when I had given birth I was twelve stone. Today I weigh two stone lighter. I think that’s pretty awesome.
When I told my eight stone, tiny, and lovely sister that I weigh ten stone, she did a headtilt and said, ‘erm ok. Is that good then?’.
Her baby is six weeks old. She’s a size ten. It’s a good thing I love her.
Catch you later xxx