Fat, fat fat.

I've been going to the gym, eating much less and I know it's going to take time, but I'm so so so sick of being fat.

I've always been between a (UK) size 6 and 8 with the occasional balloon up to 10. I'm five foot 2 and I'm just over 10stone, when I'm usually 7st 7lbs. I've never been really fat before, until mum died and then I ate and ate for comfort.

I hate it. I really hate being fat. I don't go out apart from nursery runs, dog walks and the gym. I try not to bump into anyone I know. I feel like I'm wearing a fat suit and I just want to take it off. I can't look in the mirror, I can't bear to look at the rolls of fat. Hideous. No one can be happy fat. I don't believe it for a second.

I have such a long way to go (at least two and a half stone) and I feel I'm never going to get there.

Fair weather Mum

I have to admit that when the girls are screaming, or simply whining, I envy my child-free friends. I imagine myself with some kind of career, skipping along the street ecstatic with freedom. Of course, I wouldn't really be without them. But does that make me a fair-weather Mum? I love them, but on the condition they are well-behaved and smiling ALL the time?

It sometimes feels that they scream and shout all day long. Obviously they don't, but I'm sure they do much more shouting and screaming than their fair share of normal.

Yes, I've been getting the toddler/pre-school books out. Is it ADHD, Autism, or some other condition? I can convince myself that something is 'wrong' without much effort, but then remind myself that they are both perfectly well-behaved when they are with other people. So it's us, mum and dad who are a problem. Oh God, they hate us. But then we wouldn't be doing our job if our children didn't hate us most of the time.

Thank God for the occasional 'I like you mummy' to save my sanity.

Are you pregnant again? No I'm just fat

I'm on a diet again. It must be at least the 12th one this year so far. Diets start every Monday, are dropped by Wednesday in amidst some kind of stress which result in a large bar of chocolate, and start again the following week.

But the motivation I needed came in the form of the ultimate humiliation. A friend I hadn't seen for a year thought I was pregnant. I can hardly blame her for thinking this as I've managed to pile on two and a half stone since I last saw her. I am now more than seven pounds heavier than I was at full term pregnancy.

Oh the shame.

I have decided to tackle my comfort-eating behaviour as well as a strict calorie-controlled diet and vigorous exercise regime. It's war. I've declared war on my rolls of fat.