That middle aged spread!

left over wineOh darling Lucy, the time has come. I can spend no more of my days in denial. I am middle aged. Every part of me seems to have come to terms with that except my interpretation of the reflection in the mirror. When did this all happen?!

My first realisation that I have, “taken my eye off the ball” in the middle aged spread department was last week when, for the first time in a couple of years, I was required to put on something other than jeans and wellies. Well the only stretchy thing I had was definitely two sizes too small. I know this because two of my larger assets were attempting to leave the dress on a regular basis. I had to wear those enormous pants that I can only liken to having an abdominal plaster cast. By the time we got home the beloved asked if there was anything he could do to help with my evident discomfort. Other than helping me out of my torture costume there was little I could suggest. “No, my love,” I said, “I just need to give myself a very large kick up the jaxy.” To which he quietly replied, “except you can’t lift you leg that high these days………..” I intend to speak to him before the end of the month.

So, the diet and exercise routine have started with a vengeance. So far I have gained 5 pounds and have managed to cut down my alcohol intake by 10% (it may not sound much but I comfort myself with the knowledge that if the Bank of England were to raise interest rates by anything close to that there would be riots all over the country), as it is, I am rioting inside with this decrease I can assure you. I have upped my calorie burning by running around Tesco whilst shopping although falling flat on my back in the bacon aisle has slightly scuppered that form of exercise. I tried taking the family on a nice walk on the downs but when we all ended up arguing at the top of the hill and I muttered under my breath to my beloved, “Oh get lost.” he pointed out rather loudly, “Emma, I think you’ll find we already are.”

So, all in all, I am discovering that I can no longer hide behind my, “still trying to get rid of my baby weight,” excuse as the children will be learning to drive soon. It’s time to face up to the reality, this is possibly not water but cake retention. Gin has less sugar in it than wine, am I right about that?

Hello there!

Hello there!

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