Let’s face it. For most of us, getting fat is a side effect of motherhood.
There’s the physical stuff – pregnancy and breastfeeding – that literally depends on you gaining a few pounds.
Then there’s the stuff that plays no part in species survival and yet still ends in massive calorie consumption. Leftover fish fingers, half-eaten yogurts, coffee mornings, sheer bloody exhaustion, the constant craving for biscuits (entire packets thereof) and the lure of wine at 5pm. Basically sitting around on your arse, trying to get from one end of the day to the other.
Does it matter if you get a bit fat? Dawn French is, after all, gorgeous.
It depends entirely on you and how you feel about it.
If you’re chubby yet happy, good for you. Have another cream cake. If, like me, being fat puts you in such a foul mood that your family wishes you’d move out, do something about it.
You could try Weight Watchers. If you do, three things will surprise you:
1. You’ll know most of the people there.
2. Apart from one or two enormous fatties, everyone will look quite normal.
3. It’ll work.
If you don’t fancy Weight Watchers, just eat less and move more. Easier said than done, admittedly, but not rocket science.
Staying within half a stone (oh alright; a stone) of my ideal weight makes me cheerful.
My children wouldn’t care if I was the size of a house. But they do like it when I’m cheerful.