Monday, 20 June 2011

Banding and bonding

Thank the Lord you cannot see me. I am revolting. I am having a total weight loss disaster. The ins and outs of which are impossible to keep up with but basically I am teetering on the brink of obesity yet again. I just don't understand it. I am now ten pounds from goal. It is ridiculous - I just can't get 'in the zone' anymore. When I stand sideways, on my tippy toes, breathe in unnaturally hard and look in the mirror I can just about see the thinner person I am clearly meant to be and I feel inspired. THEN I get downstairs and open the fridge/cupboard/biscuit tin/discarded packed lunch box or pack of chocolate raisins and the over eater within becomes overwhelming and forces me to eat something I shouldn't as she knows it will taste so GOD DAMN GOOD. I think it has got to the point where I will have to drop all my other various ailments and potential cancer threats and go to see the Doctor about my split personality disorder. The over eater I share my body with really, really wants to buy packets of biscuits, eat the kids leftovers and order takeaway every single day - she is very disruptive. I need her exorcised otherwise I will get the sack and always look vaguely pregnant. 

To add insult to injury I see that just as I lose (nearly) five stone so that I don't look like Dawn French, Dawn loses five stone so that she might look like me. So now even after all my hard work I still look like Dawn French. A part of me is convinced she has had a gastric band. The gastric band has totally ruined dieting. I think a lot of people assume that if you've lost a lot of weight then you must have had a band fitted. I know I thought my Auntie had. I was convinced. No one loses a stone a month consistently for ten months with will power alone. I am assured by my mother that it is most definitely not the case but I will remain unconvinced until proved otherwise. I think there are some who thought I might have gone under the knife as fellow fatties are always very keen to know how I did it - I have been accosted in the playground and in shops by people I know only by sight - and sometimes not even that - to find out how it happened. Almost without fail they are disappointed to know it was just Weight Watchers. I know that when I used to ask people who had lost weight how they had done it, it was in the hope that they turned around and said - why it was a magic pill - I paid £100 for it, took it yesterday and today I woke up thin and with no desire to over eat ever again!  It NEVER happened. People either said gastric band/bypass, mad milkshake/meal replacement or diet and exercise. Next time I'm asked I might try the magic pill thing and see what happens.

I blame the lovely Fern Britten for all this disbelief. Her lying about the band she had fitted has thrown suspicion onto everyone. Although I think her and Anne Diamond were the only ones who were forced to confess due to the press outing them, I am totally and utterly convinced there are many more celebrities out there who have had secret gastric bands whose secret has stayed that way. Take Sophie Dahl for example, plus size model and at least a size 20 and then seemingly overnight she was a normal size 6 skinny model. Nicole Richie's another one - she didn't even gain weight when pregnant which is deeply suspicious. Any former fat girl who doesn't over eat whilst pregnant is only doing so because she physically cannot - I refuse to believe will power alone can get you through that (I am DEEPLY suspicious of will power - can you tell?).  Hilariously the one person who was open and honest about her band operation from the start was of course, the still fat, Vanessa Feltz - life can be so unfair.

Enough of all this. On to the weekend that has been and gone. Saturday was not particularly exciting but of course, Sunday was Father's Day. It wasn't the headline of this post as it's quite obviously not a headline sort of day. I mean really, Father's Day? EVERY DAY IS FATHER'S DAY. I think having a special day devoted to them is over the top. Even the cards available acknowledge its lack of importance. Instead of all the gushing sycophantic rubbish of Mother's Day cards, they are far more succinct and jokey. It took me two seconds to find a suitable card for Bea, it simply said, 'My Dad Rules OK'. Enough said. We are a traditional sort of family now that the Manny has gone which means that I do all the hard work whilst K merely goes to work. I am, of course, extremely grateful to K for going to work every week day and earning the money (even more so since the big R) however I also know that he would have to go to work whether I had done him the massive honour of making him a father or not. He wouldn't be sitting at home watching Jeremy Kyle with a rumbly tummy just because he wasn't a father. I think the problem is that there's a double edged sword to being a father - on the one hand they are able to up sticks and walk away at any point, safe in the knowledge that the woman they leave behind will invariably pick up the pieces and care for the children but on the other, they can't ever change the fact that it's the mother who has carried the baby (except for adoption obviously) and they are therefore slightly less important. To be fair to K, as I am a 'stay at home' mother I am naturally more resentful than most. You see if I want to leave for a night out it has to be pre-arranged quite some way in advance, I need to have it approved, K has to get home from work on time (invariably doesn't happen), I usually have to put the kids to bed first and only then can I get myself ready to even leave the bloody house so that by the time I eventually get out, I am shattered from the long day and fully aware that every hour I spend out is another hour of sleep lost. Because as nice as it is to be out and seeing friends I know that I will be the one that wakes up in the night to any crying child and the one that gets up in the morning at 6 when they wake up for good. In order for K to go out, he picks up the phone and tells me he will be going out straight from work. He then gets home from his night out and sleeps until he needs to be up for work the following morning at about 8am. ENOUGH SAID.

Of course there is also the potential that I am slightly resentful of Father's Day as my father is no longer around for me to congratulate for not buggering off, for going to work every day for decades without moaning, for paying for every stupid little thing I ever wanted and for loving me and all my lovely sisters from the day we were born right up until the day he woke up and had a massive and fatal heart attack. But, life moves on and all the things my dad did for me, K is now doing for our beautiful children. So, when Sunday rolled around I did actually celebrate Father's Day (up until about 10am) because as Fathers go, he is pretty damn good. The children made and wrote some beautiful cards and in very high spirits they wrapped three presents in half a roll of sellotape and most of a roll of wrapping paper. When I looked at Bea's card she had written 'To daddy, I wel love you for evue, you no it, you no it, you you you no it. Love from Bea. Cos you tac me out.' (The 'wel' was for will, not well - just to clarify.) Enough said.

This has gone on for far too long so I shall leave you to get on with your lives. I may be a while - I am intending to undertake TWO Zumba classes this week (I can't eat less so I am attempting to do more - you never know 'they' might have a point), I'm out for drinks with fellow WW leaders on Weds and out to dinner on Friday night. OOOH and on Saturday - I can scarcely believe I haven't opened with this momentous news - I am going to see GLEE - LIVE!!!!! I would like to apologise to anyone who sits near me at the O2 - I shall be singing VERY loudly and screaming like a banshee at Puck. I am not usually the type to display such public vulgarity but seeing Puck in the flesh is a once in a lifetime sort of event.

Thankfully the audience is in the dark so Puck can't see me in all my obesity teetering hideousness. Phew.

Nightily night. x

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