The F Word

Curvy, fuller figure, cuddly, voluptuous, Rubenesque. Whatever way you care to put it there is no getting by the fact that I’m not exactly skinny. In fact, let’s not beat about the bush, I’m fat. There I’ve said it. No hiding behind the ‘big busted ‘ excuse or reassuring myself that muscle weighs more than fat. There is some muscle in there somewhere but it has a hell of a lot of padding hiding its definition.


Not my feet (or my weight)!

The fact is I love food. Food is a creative outlet, a comfort, a reward, a way of saying ‘I love you’ and a way of telling myself I deserve it. I may not need that bar of chocolate calling my name from the food stash on the garage but oh boy do I want it. The thought prods my motor neurons to open the wrapper from some part of my brain I have no control over and it keeps prodding until it receives the kick from that sweet yumminess. Then there are portion sizes. Bigger is definitely better in my appetite’s opinion. “I’ll just add a bit more pasta to the pan” I think as the recommended amount just looks so meagre. Why share a Chinese takeaway when I can have a whole one to myself? And I always finish my plate like a good girl. My food obsession started when I was young. My mum is a fantastic cook and taught me to love food, but I can’t blame her. Portions at her house have always been sensible no matter how yummy the recipe. It all went wrong when I left home for university. My first year halls of residence were catered and who could resist a cooked breakfast and a three course evening meal every day? Then I was no beans on toast girl from my second year onwards. Food doesn’t have to be expensive to be fattening (although I probably spent more than the average share of my student loan down the local Kwik Save). Fast forward a decade and a half and my 38-28-36 figure which I really didn’t appreciate at the time is trapped in an Alcatraz of fat and its screaming goes unheard.

But I do miss having legs that look good in short skirts, the only muffin top being on the one I’m eating with my coffee and bingo wings just being something to eat while playing lotto. More food references – see my problem? I have tried a few diets over the years with some success but never got near my target and ultimately the weight has piled back on again.

So here I am again. Ashamed of what I see in photos of myself and desperately wanting to feel attractive. So I have set myself a new target. In just over two months my little brother is getting married and I need an outfit. I saw a great dress in Prima with slimming diagonal stripes so I have bought it – in a size 18. Sure enough the zip won’t do up. So I have two months to fit into it. Cue long walks with the pushchair, greater chocolate resistance and regular use of scales in both the kitchen and bathroom. Let Operation Yummy Mummy commence!



About Laura Cooper

I am a mid-thirties first time mum of one. Formerly a secondary school teacher, serial planner and know-it-all . I have learnt that nothing about being a mum is predictable and am now a strong advocate of making it up as you go along.
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2 Responses to The F Word

  1. Love the dress. You can do it!!!

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