Too fat to notice

I had a terrible accident today. A calamity I have strived to avoid for some time now. But when your jogging bottoms don’t fit past your thighs and even your pj’s are struggling to hold the whole package together it is inevitable that one will eventually…. fall onto the scales.

So today it became official. I realise that everyone who has had the pleasure of me in their eye line (or let’s be honest, me blocking out their entire field of vision) probably already knows. I realise I have been blindly stuffing my face with anything not nailed down, and licking the coating off of anything that is. I realise that I have only worn one pair of trousers to work for the last few weeks. I realise that moving the tumble dryer from the garage into the house has allowed me to blame it shamelessly for the shrinkage of everything I own. But even I have to give in now. I am officially the biggest I have ever been. Fat enough to be a Jeremy Kyle audience member. Infact, to hell with the lies, fat enough to be ON the Jeremey Kyle show. Let’s go all out – fat enough to EAT Jeremy Kyle if he sat still near me for long enough.

I currently cannot remember the last time I felt full. I vaguely remember what it’s like to feel completely bloated and a little sick because I’ve eaten too much but I have stretched to the point that there is not enough cake in the kingdom to sate my appetite.

I have reached a crossroads that I genuinely believed would not be in my path any more. After losing weight last year and feeling that I was on the road to a healthier, happier, more slender future, I genuinely thought my days in the plus, plus, plus size department were over. I was smug. So more fool me. Because now I have to make the decision we all dread…

Do I get a grip, control my intake of food and literally work my fat arse off until I can go back to wearing clothes instead of soft furnishings?

OR

Do I just admit defeat and try to win at competitive eating instead?

Seriously – these are the only two options I have given myself. With some forethought I could have published my heavy eating more openly online and charged a fortune for men of a certain inclination to tell me to eat the whole Vienetta that I was going to eat anyway. I feel a little sorry for the men I have deprived of enjoying my journey to the heaviest I have ever been.

But moving onto the more serious viewpoint of my current wobbly stature. I have asked myself why. Do I eat because I am bored? Sad? Lonely? Could I have a medical condition that has put me here? Can I add up the expected weight gain from stopping smoking, medication, change of lifestyle and come up with the massive figure I see on the scales? No.

No. No. No. No.No. No. NO!

Excuse after excuse has got me here. I wasn’t this heavy when I was growing my heaviest child. I wasn’t this heavy when insignificant ex left. I certainly wasn’t this heavy when I first got heavy or any day since then.

I am the fattest – not biggest, I haven’t got taller – that I have ever been in my entire life. Ever.

And I am disgusted with myself.

However (and here’s my usual quandary, the twist that gives me the reason to blog in the first place) I don’t know how to get thinner. Sure I know the theory. Move more, eat less right? But I’ve never actually done it before.

When insignificant ex left he took 2 stone with him. This is brilliant weight loss because it’s pure girl power weight loss. This is Mother Nature looking out for her crew. Heartbreak is the most sure-fire way to drop pounds. Sisters are doing it for themselves? No. Mother Nature is doing it for us – sucking the extra fat right off us in order to help us find a new mate. It’s prehistoric but it’s awesome.

The story of my fat arse goes back to when I first moved in with insignificant ex. So many moon (pies) ago. It is the only subject of our destructive relationship where I feel genuinely sorry for him. I was a very healthy, fantastically well-shaped size 10/12 when we met. Within 6 months I was a size 18/20 and weighed around 4 stone more than the woman he had met.

Hey, Mother Nature works both ways you know!

I have, like most women, fluctuated over the years but I have not been anywhere near the size or weight that I still see myself as in dreams for almost 15 years. (I was skinny for longer than I’ve been fat – therefore I still dream skinny!)

I tried the 2 big group weight loss programmes. Lost a stone after my daughter was born with Weight Watchers. Put it back on. Lost 2 stone after my son was born with Slimming World. Put it back on. Then put some more on. And a little more. I was at my heaviest at that point when insignificant ex left. Lost 2 stone. Would love to say I did it through diet and exercise but I really didn’t. Like I said, Mother Nature. However, that bitch is yet to respond to my letters and explain why I’ve put not just that 2 stone back on but another bloody stone on top! I’m not eating any differently – seriously, I’ve always been able to pack it away. I don’t move less – I’m on my own with two kids now and still work so I’d say I move more. So why has she made me fatter?!

Okay, maybe I do eat a little more luxury food than I used to. Give me a break – takeaway once a week isn’t the end of the world when I just want to keep the kitchen clear for one bloody day. Maybe I do move  a bit less if I think about it. Afterall, I joined the gym. And I went like, three times. And I swam twice. (Not meant to be funny, those 5 visits were a big deal!)

I was trying to put it down to the fact that I cook from scratch significantly less now I’m of single mum status. But that’s only partially true. Today I baked – from scratch – 24 mince pies, 12 jam tarts, 6 salted caramel centre vanilla muffins, 6 plain vanilla muffins and 4 small cakes from the leftover batter for the children. Oh and there’s a chicken in the oven. This is turning rapidly into a new chapter of The Very Hungry Caterpillar…

At this strange juncture in my life I am genuinely concerned that I am becoming too fat to notice. There is a fuzzy place in our field of vision where the fat people live. We see the toned slender ones very clearly, lusting after their shape and energy. We also see the morbidly obese ones, thankful that we’re not them and can still see our own toes. And in the blindspot are the fat people. Those of us that are still mobile but not running. Not fat enough to stand out for the wrong reasons and not svelte enough to stand out for the right reasons. I am making peace with the fact that I will likely be a family of 3 for a while. But I would eventually like to add a new significant other to our overflowing dinner table. I do hope I can now come to terms with the fact that I must give away atleast 75% of all baked goods and cook for 3 people instead of 3 armies from this point forwards. Because I really don’t want to be too fat to notice forever.

I would just like to confirm for those that wonder or may be facing life as a reduced family in future, that it is often cheaper and always quicker to serve up processed goodies on a daily basis and call it cooking because I waited for the oven to heat up. But we can all cook from scratch on a daily basis and turn out cheap yet beautiful food. I know I can because I did it for years when insignificant ex was still significant. I don’t do it now because I simply don’t have time.

Just like exercise, cleaning the house and walking the dog. I am adamant that I just don’t have the time. I’m far too busy eating….
 

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