So, how in the name of God can it be possible for good intentions well met to lead to a very public (and naked) shaming?
Yes, I spent six weeks pre-holiday eating nothing but frickin’ lettuce and consuming a seriously bladder-threatening volume of earl grey to slim down to bikini weight for the first time in ten years. Celebrated with a side of cucumber and trotted off to buy hitherto undreamed of two piece swimming costume (having favoured tummy control since the ‘body-enhancing’ appearance of three children) – all in preparation for Bling French Holiday. After settling myself in with five days of rabbit-worthy diet maintenance and the customary tummy control that threatened to squeeze the offending muffin top down to my ankles (yes, weight loss does NOT equal toned beach body – still much wobble to distribute) I finally donned The Bikini.
It was kind of an out-of-body experience emerging from the gloom of aircon bedroom to public poolside, but I did it with nonchalant Slimming World-success-story swagger (not that I ever made it to Slimming World – not sure they’ve invented the ‘starvation and sweets’ diet yet). Took my time to apply suncream (tummy sucked in until I almost passed out obvs) and adjust pants/straps and push up dwindling knockers (so unfair). Then. Jumped. Only to discover I’d over-estimated on size and subsequently found myself breathlessly retrieving errant pants AND stuffing escaped ex-boobs back into push up top, all whilst anxiously surveying the assembled crowd in the hope they had been distracted by Pudding’s timely cry of “I’ve done a pool poo” and therefore missed her semi-naked Rubenesque mother shamefacedly reassembling her modesty.
What concerns me most is not necessarily the naked shaming (which only smarts a little) but the degree to which I will bend (and starve, and suffer) to find a way back to supposed former shape. Much as I adore my children and would not change a single thing about the events that brought them to me, it’s particularly sobering to realise how much we lose before we (re)gain ourselves. It’s taken me ten years to get back to the old ‘me’ and I wonder if that’s because I’m a particularly slow starter (and fast eater) or whether it happens that way for all (non-yummy) mummies. Who knows?
Whatever. Not one to miss a learning opportunity, next year I shall happily prepare for the annual summer flesh-fest by mainlining almond croissants, Pringles and wine gums whilst watching “How to Look Good Naked”. On repeat. So much simpler. And infinitely more enjoyable. Muffins and all.