Thankyou, I've had enough

So, it's finally arrived. The Moment. I knew it would, of course. I've been closing my eyes to all the evidence, but was forced this morning to confront what I have subconsciously known for some time. And it's not pretty.

Yep.

I've got to lose some weight.

I don't know about you, but I'm not one to spend hours posturing in front of the mirror, admiring my body in all it's splendour. Born a Catholic, raised that way, that sort of thing just wasn't done. So although I've seen that the numbers have - to put it politely - crept upwards on the scales since my first cherub appeared (or in reality, from around the time that we realised he was on his way), I haven't really put myself in a position to see the results around my waistline. Sure, I know I've gone up a dress-size. And yes, it is just the one, though frankly I was never that skinny to begin with.

If you're anything like me, the only full-length photos of you around the house are likely to be from that distant day when you looked good in white. Mainly because you had spent the previous 6 months working out and dieting to make damn sure that you did. Being an acceptable shape on your wedding day is a pretty big incentive, or it was to me. In fact, no event since provided quite the same motivation. And of course, if you are also anything like me, those glances you shoot at yourself in the mirror on your way out of the house to make sure you don't have lipstick on your teeth / ripped tights (stockings? You wish) / toothpaste, snot or sick on your bum are always so fleeting, and at such at flattering angle, that you could put on 6 stone before you realised you should cut out the Starbucks Frappucinos for a while.

So, whilst I knew I needed to sort things out, it was only when I saw the photos of myself on holiday and wondered who the portly woman on the beach was that I started to take any kind of action. Namely, moaning to Husband that I never seem to be able get myself motivated to go to the gym anymore.

My darling Husband provided the first and most important part of that motivation. If I go to the gym 3 times a week every week for a year, he has promised to take me somewhere that I can show off the bikini bod I hope to have by then. That's not to say I will wear a bikini, by the way. I would just like to have the option.

So, a fortnight back from holiday I have been to the gym 6 times and we are 2 weeks down, 50 to go.

Can you tell Husband is Dutch? What are the chances he'll really have to pay up? Not good, I would have said. Until this morning, when I saw a photo of myself, taken unawares last Autumn, just after I had my appendix operation. I had even managed to drop a couple of pounds as a result (and no, it wasn't all appendix), and remember that I was feeling pretty good.

And yet, in that photo, I still looked more than a little porktastic, dammit! Now I'm not living in a complete dreamworld. I don't expect, or even want, to reach some unrealistic goal and regain my pre-baby figure. But I would like to be able to rediscover something of a waist and lose the apple silhouette.

So watch this space. Hopefully, it will get larger.

And if anyone can suggest an alternative to crispbread I'd be very glad to hear about it...