I seem be doing tremendously well at perpetually committing gross diet fail. I was a mere stone away from target thanks to the aid of illness a while ago and yet the target is now a guilty 21lbs away.  Plateaued or simply stagnated, same difference, either way the biscuits are calling me and if I don't have at least one chocolate bar a day I turn remarkably homicidal. Yet needs must in the absence of alcohol consumption and cheeky smokes one must seek alternative vices, I just wish they could be less calorific ones.

I suppose the one small grace is that whilst full miss piggy mode is activated my weight appears to fluctuate a mere pound or two, rather a far cry from previous obesity. There is an element of comfort in the knowledge that I don't turn into a complete heffer the instant I up my calories.

Yet I can't deny the wretched feeling of self sabotage. So close and I have to ruin it. My target is in sight, compared to what I have lost (3st 9lbs) a mere 21 pounds sounds ridiculously achievable, does it not? Yet egads It's proving to be a bugger of a challenge.

There is an element of rather false complacency in wearing size 12 jeans, finally.

However there are many contributing factors besides a piss poor level of will power that have the rather unfortunate effect of devouring my diet mojo such as stress (check), illness (check), a rather unfortunate impromptu lack of zoloft (check) and .... The School Holidays.

Now don't get me wrong I love the little sods to the moon and back but it doesn't change the fact that they are rather adept at driving me round the proverbial bend. Bickering day in and out requiring tiring never ending refereeing worsened by the atrocious bouts of weather resulting in us being unable to chuck then outside to play.

Due to a dire lack of money, no transport and bad weather not to mention the Chicken Pox interlude with The Toddler we haven't really been anywhere or done anything. We couldn't even let then spend more time with The Grandparents as first they had decorating going on and now The Mother has pissed off to Spain again as per the norm when the kids are off school.

Thing Two turns into a quivering wreck in busy places and all the decent parks are bursting at The seams with unsupervised hyperactive asbo kids and tremendously annoying teenagers with inappropriate language and unsavoury behaviour who seen intent on hogging all the children's play equipment. Not forgetting that just to get to many of the decent parks in the first place costs a small fortune on public transport.

Thing One is incredibly good at walking and regularly walks 5-7 mile round trips with The Husband yet poor Thing Two's limit is an admirable 2-2.5miles which although awfully impressive does somewhat limit where we can go. When they're at school, since assassinating my obesity I've found that I too can actually walk a 5-7 mile round trip, with a 26lb toddler on my back too and better still in some strange twist I actually, dare I say, enjoy it (or rather I mightily enjoy the tremendous amount of extra calories it allows me to stuff my face with)

All of these factors culminate in boredom too hence my over eating again to compensate. 

I have an astonishing lack of self control.

So to conclude this drivel, I need to get back on track yet have accepted that I have A better chance of success when The kids are back at school.

I will reach my target. I will. I owe it to myself.

Life's a journey, not a destination

With a weight loss journey there comes a new suitcase of insecurities.  You're not yet slim nor at your goal yet you're a remarkably long way from where you used to be.  Your old clothes are far too big and ghastly they were more of a disguise then anything.  Yet you have no idea how to dress this new awkward figure that is too fat to be slim and too slim to be fat.  I admit I've been failing abysmally lately, I still have at least a stone more to go ideally a stone and a half.  I have absolutely lost my diet mojo.  It's a case of being so close yet so depressingly far.  One thing that helped last time was to buy some clothes from eBay, I found that looking better at the weight I was somehow inspired me to work harder to the weight I want to be.  However, as they became a tad too big and I finally found jeans to fit I fell back into the old jeans trap which has a knock on effect of feeling dowdy, frumpy and lumpy exacerbated by the great bra failure.  Ill fitting bras do nought for the confidence nor figure.

So in an attempt to regain the mojo, I've bought some clothes from eBay, however I have no idea how to dress anymore nor what suits me with a belly that's too large and a chest that's too large.  My old favourite clothes of gothiness and hippyness are far far too tiny for me to wear and new items are simply far too expensive even preloved.  I've bought some dresses.  I don't know why as I look awful in dresses.  I wanted to try something different and to make an effort. I struggle to feed The Toddler in dresses yet with short ones and leggings the dress can be lifted as if a top when at home.  I'm so far out of my comfort zone it's unreal and I feel like a total berk or mutton dressed as lamb.  I see clothes that I know are lovely and see a 'style' in my head yet know it would not suit me yet on the flip side whilst knowing what won't suit me I have no idea what will. I've lost all sense of identity, my obesity ate it and now I'm no longer obese I still can't find it again. It's at times like this when a woman needs an honest friend to say 'that looks okay but that one looks hideous on you' there's no point asking The Husband as everything looks 'fine'

I don't know who I am anymore on so many levels.

If I can't be me, maybe I can be someone new.  Somebody better.
 

What not to wear...

Losing weight is supposed to be confidence building so do tell me why, at the ripe old age of 31 and a size 12-14 having spent 8 years as a size 16-18+ do I still not feel the thrill and haven't the foggiest what to wear?

Centuries ago, PK (Pre - kids) it was velvet, pvc, tye dye with stripy tights, ripped fishnets (yes, I'm a goth in remission) and at my peak of 'having an actual life' I was crazily a size 8-10 yet crept up to a 14 just before I got pregnant with Thing One.

AK (after kids) it became ill fitting cheap jeans, repulsive tracky bottoms and over stretched band hoodies. I felt horrendous and looked even worse. However, dare I say there was a certain element of comfort in obesity for I didn't have to think. I felt fat, looked fat and was fat. There were no expectations nor effort. Rather then trying to polish a turd I longed for invisibility. I stopped trying, nothing remotely 'me' would fit and if it did I would look ridiculous and quite frankly, awful. Obesity (and mental illness) devoured my identity and my sense of self. I wore things that would fit rather then things I liked. Clothes shopping was rare and somewhat depressing.

Fast forward to now. I 'should' be able to wear whatever I choose and whilst the old favoured stripy thigh high socks and chunky boots remain and jeans now fit properly I find myself at a stalemate. Needing smaller, nicer clothes isn't at all what I thought it would be. It isn't fun.

First to be fair I'll admit two major obstacles the first being money, or lack of and the second being the fact i'm breastfeeding so most of the things I like are either unaffordable or absolutely impractical logistic wise.

Then there is sizing. I point blank refuse on sheer principle to buy any brand that class a size 12-14 as 'Large' or worse still 'extra large' That's utterly absurd and rather a tad mean.

Talking of sizing, that in itself is quite a farce. If you're feeling masochistic do shop in Primark. I know not what strange proportioned species they design for yet it is painfully obvious not for mere mortals unless you buy a dress size or two larger then you are.

Upon the opposite end of the spectrum if you'd like an image boost do try Marks & Spencers as often you can instantly drop a dress size.  How positively amazing!

Why oh why aren't clothing sizes governed to grant us with an iota of continuity?.

I still have weight to lose. I still both think and feel fat inside my head. I look at clothing that I most likely could wear yet am still in the mind frame of obesity and I still feel repulsive despite others my size looking remarkable. It's not a physical rationale it's tremendously irrational and to be brutally honest, all in my head.

So,I can't yet dress how i'd prefer to. I can't dress how I did the past 8 yrs nor in the period of my life prior to The Fat Years.  Sizing is a minefield of disappointments, money is negative, breastfeeding is continual, weight loss is ongoing.

It really isn't about how you look and more so about how you feel that makes you happy.

I ask you, what is a woman to wear?  And more importantly what not to wear?

Scaffolding

One of the irksome downsides of losing weight is the need for new bras or in my case, scaffolding.

Have you tried buying a nursing bra in a large cup size? (We're talking k-l here) you end up with a choice of one, two if you're lucky. These are usually of the same brand which to be frank give you an abysmal shape they're ugly and here's the biggee, they're notoriously expensive. There's nothing quite as frustrating as being unable to afford a correctly fitting bra. Over 70% of woman are wearing the incorrect bra size and when you get correctly fitted it really does make the most remarkable difference to the figure, posture and thus boosting confidence.

The (skint) grumpy old woman in me absolutely abhors the prospect of paying over £30 for a single fugly nursing bra that spends most of the day with the cups open.

Bra shopping pre children was a treat, I was a slightly more 'normal' sized and had money to burn. My top draw was a treasure chest of colourful, sexy, underwired feel good beauties.  Back when the weekend consisted of PVC, alcohol and Rockworld (or cockworld as we affectionately dubbed it) i'd don the epic black wonderbra with an incredibly nifty pull doodah in the middle that gave what can only be referred to as uber cleavage of doom.

Now my top draw is a depressive monochrome grave yard of three, yes three, bras none of which actually fit anymore.

I rarely spend over £30 on any clothing or footwear these days so the thought of needing at the very least two new bras at over £30 a pop that are boring and ugly is disenchanting to say the least.  Not to mention the small fact that i'm not finished with the whole weight loss thing yet.

If i'm going to go bankrupt buying something necessary I'd at the very least like a little choice.

If I wasn't such a craft inept, no really, i'd buy pretty none nursing bras and convert them.

Oh to be a man. The only bra conundrum they face is how the hell to remove them.