Post-Baby Body Blues…

I think tomorrow I’m going to pretend I’m pregnant.

Don’t have a heart attack Hubster and mum don’t panic, I’m not losing the plot. Well not really anyway, but as I sit here devouring a giant chocolate bunny I realise that something seriously needs to be done about my post-baby body. It’s not looking good, I can see my reflection in the television screen and I don’t like it. When I was pregnant I treated my body so well. No alcohol (obviously), lots of walking and regular exercise, and thanks to my getting gestational diabetes I was on a minimal sugar diet. I’d never been so flipping healthy. Flash forward seven months and I’m a slob kebab. 

I’m pretty sure that most women arrive at this realisation at some point after pregnancy, but how do I start making improvements when I barely have time to wipe my butt, let alone get it on a treadmill? Ugh.

Cue excuses. You might remember that I am Queen of excuses when it comes to having a valid reason as to why I shouldn’t get my brow all sweaty. So instead I am currently considering a range of options to help get that pre-baby body back which, ironically, I disliked at the time but would very much welcome back with open, less wobbly arms: 

  • A Waist Trainer. So how practical do we think these will be? Can you still go about your daily tasks donning one? Would I have to schedule in a session a day where I literally sit perched on a stool pretending I’m an extra in Dowton Abbey whilst trying not to pass out as my internal organs are compressed in an Edwardian vice? 
  • A ‘Slendertone’. I think I tried this once and I couldn’t stop laughing as it tickled me so much. I’m so ticklish that I actually think it’s possible to die through tickling. Maybe I won’t try this one seeing as I have an offspring to consider now. 
  • A Slimming Group. Ugh. These places are so depressing. They make me want to eat my own weight score chart…along with everyone else in the sad circle of support. 
  • Surgery. Not the most sensible solution, but one I’d consider if I won the lottery. I’d love nothing more than to be sucked into shape, followed by a six week rest period where I just shopped online for new-smaller-me-sized clothes. Yes I’m that shallow…and deluded, as I’m clearly not going to win the lottery. I don’t even play it. 
  • Mouth Sewn Up. An option I’ve considered many a time over the years. Highly impractical and even less likelier to happen than the fat-sucking-sugery. Oh well. There’s always duck tape (yes I know it’s duct tape…duck tape always sounds funnier) 

I obviously realise that the sensible approach to sorting one’s body confidence out comes with healthy eating and exercise. Ugh. 

I just don’t have the time. Well that’s not entirely true. As confessed mentioned earlier I’m sitting here eating a chocolate bunny whilst the baby sleeps and typing away all the reasons why I don’t have time to get into shape, instead of actually doing something about it. In all honestly I’m cream crackered. I literally haven’t stopped since 6.45am this morning and I need to restore some energy before cranky o’clock begins. The thought of digging out my sports bra and jumping around my living room for half an hour is about as appealing as having my mouth sewn up. Excuses, excuses

It’s not just the exercise side of things, there’s also my nemesis to contend with…food. I touched briefly in this post about my not so great new mum diet. Apparently eating a ball of mozzarella doesn’t count as one of your five a day even though it’s shaped like an apple. I just don’t have the brain space and the time to plan and cook healthy meals and snacks these days. Excuses, excuses.

I could blame my frame of mind on being on maternity leave. At the moment everyday has that ‘time off’ feeling that you only get with Christmas and holidays. Where every day merges into one and you don’t know what day it is…but you do know where the biscuits are kept and ooh, is that a ball of mozzarella I see calling my name? Excuses, excuses

I’ve just become slack in every possible area when it comes to looking after me. I’m getting too comfy in my comfies and it’s time to make a change. So there’s nothing left to do but to pretend I’m pregnant and that I’ve got diabetes. After I’ve finished eating my giant chocolate bunny of course. 

Any tips on getting back into shape after having a baby will be greatly appreciated…as well as donations towards fat-sucking-surgery…joke, obvs, sort of. 

Until next time…

With Love & Post Baby Wobbles,

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