This is a cautionary tale for all dieters out there. Read it and take note.
Britmums is coming. I am so excited, and, as is customary, I want to look nice.
Not nice in the sense of the Mama Cass ill advised tit flashing maxi dress, but nicer than the jeans and top combo of last year. Also, I wont have Glowstars there with a suitcase of shoes this year, so will have to buy my own.
Unlike the last two years, I have cleared up the eczema on my legs which has plagued me for the last 6 years straight- those with easily upset skin, do not buy Banana Bubble Bath- so can actually wear a knee length skirt this year (the orange peel thighs having sadly not gone despite many supposed lotions and potions. Occupational hazard of child birth I feel).
I went off to EBay for inspiration, and found not one but two very nice dresses.
However, one of them created a bit of an issue.
It is a “keyhole” dress, which, by keyhole, as the name would suggest, I expected a tiny little gap at the back which would be hardly noticeable. Except it isn’t hardly noticeable, and means I can’t wear Spanx either.
I wasn’t worried (and Elder, bless him said he couldn’t see any issues with the dress at all, hole in the back or not. Just to wear tights with it as its a bit shorter than I’d anticipated too). I embarked on my firm diet favourite, the Carb free one.
I was eating fine, just not having bread, rice, spuds and noodles, so having some scrabbled egg for breakfast (when I remembered), a pepperami for lunch, and then having some chicken and as many veg as I could fit in a pan for tea. I cut down on coffee and stopped buying sweets and crisps.
So far, so good and my jeans were getting loose again within a week- that’s how well it works for me.
Except Saturday I was busy, I went out with the Bratlings, walked around the town, came back and then did all the laundry I had put back due to the sodding rain we’ve had for weeks. So, by 5pm I was starving hungry. I fired up my chicken and veg and had something to eat, with a glass or three of a well deserved Gin and Tonic.
Sunday. I couldn’t get up.
I tried to get up at 7am, and felt like I was going to faint. I felt sick, sweaty, and had the kind of headache that makes you think a steam roller came in and drove over you in the night.
I couldn’t look at the screen of my phone, as it was swimming in front of my eyes.
Elder, bless him, looked after the Bratlings all day, and brought me Nurofen a plenty. Then, in true Irish style, demanded I eat a plate of chips. But apart form that and a few slices of Garlic Bread, that was all I managed to eat without being sick.
I feel slightly better this morning, and ate some toast before the school run, but I still feel a bit ropey.
So, the diet I have used for months before has decided to not play ball.
I’m told by Elder to stop being daft and just to eat properly, but lessen the portions and not eat sweets and other crap, like he does. I think I may have to listen or I’ll end up in Hospital, rather than in London for britmums related fun.
Diets. They truly, truly suck.