‘I want to lose 13 kilos,’ says my friend the other day.
‘Wow. That’s a lot,’ I reply. ‘You’ll be really skinny.’
‘I know. I want people to look at me and wonder if I’m sick.’
Please take this statement in the vein it was intended.
This is coming from the mother of a ten month old who is determined to rid herself of the few pesky kilos desperate to remain friends with her waistline.
It’s amazing how attached they can get. Friends for 9 months and they think you want to be friends forever.
Of course sometimes you encourage them, by your breastfeeding-induced addiction to all things carby, starchy (and come 3pm) sugary, but it’s not a genuine bid for friendship. It’s a fickle one. Like so many you see in the playground depending on who’s got the latest cool toy.
Except extra kilos are not a toy. Even if your husband calls them love handles.
(Although if he’s got half a brain in his head he won’t).
Some mothers breastfeed the weight away, others stress it out. Yet more walk it off with hours of incidental exercise otherwise known as ‘the desperate attempt to tire your child out’.
Whatever way you do it, the unfortunate truth is that while you may eventually breakup with those extra 13 kilos, your body will still never ever be the same again.
You grew a human inside you.
And then you got it out, one way or another.
Imagine pulling the engine of a car out through its chassis.
Would you not expect a few things to get rearranged in the process?
Muscle separation…hip rotation…scar tissue (or scare tissue as I think it should be called).
Bugger the thirteen kilos, I need a total realignment.
Wheels, bonnet, gear box and all.