“You’re not fat, Mummy, you’re Squidgy….”

Yes, that was the phrase uttered at full volume in the middle of the cinema on Sunday afternoon by my darling son.  To his credit, it is meant to be a compliment.  My son does not “do”  Boney Mummies, as he calls them.  In fact I would say he has an almost pathological fear of them. Which has always been good news for me!

Weight, or rather how I carry my weight, has been an issue ever since my teens. I fluctuate randomly due to an underactive thyroid that no amount of artificial hormone replacement can seem to address. I can eat next to nothing for weeks on end and become bloated….then the next month shovel down a full English, curry for lunch and pizza for dinner every day and not seem to put on a single inch. I am a medical mystery – someone really should study me and there should definitely be some government funding in there somewhere.

I have deduced that it must be something purely to do with metabolism. I believe mine to be dead from the neck down. Or at least very sick. The slimmest I have ever been in the past 20 years was actually when I was pregnant each time with my two children. I weighed more at the outset of each pregnancy than I ever did at the end. It wasn’t because I ate particularly healthily, for while I did up the intake of greenish things, I also felt that no-one would notice if I choked down a couple of bags of Minstrels or Maltesers a day, together with a few muffins and it would have been rude not to have the creamy lattes to go with them. In addition, my craving with each pregnancy was the boiled egg.  I would consume them in vast quantities slapped between slices of white bread, doused in ketchup; then offend the general neighbourhood with the by-product. You can imagine, I don’t need to spell it out I’m sure! I apologise to the local chickens of the time whose backsides worked overtime to provide me with my daily fix!

But despite this gorging self-abuse, I lost weight and in fact at the end of each pregnancy, got into jeans and clothing I hadn’t been able to wear the year before or even many years before –  even with a “joey pouch”, as my friend lovingly calls her left-over pregnancy overhang. I was most definitely a “yummy mummy” for a few months after each baby. Then it would all slowly creep on again, even though I always immediately dropped the chocolate/latte/boiled egg fetishes. So my children have grown up with the reality of a “sturdy” mummy who is not in any danger of being blown over by a puff of wind. And a house without scales in the bathroom. This is their norm.

“Squidgy” is a term of endearment in our house, not something to worry about. Until its broadcast at top volume in the middle of a public place, that is. Then, and only then, did I feel that perhaps the time has come to really think about doing something about it. I play sports at least twice a week, walk my furry son (the dog) for an hour or more every day and am generally quite fit. But the labels in the back of my clothes, coupled with the fact that my back-fat continues to hold a conversation with the people in a room I have just left, leads me to believe this is not reflected in my current look.

So watch this space. Because by hell or by Zumba, something is going to have to give and I have decided it’s the name “Squidgy” – sweet, endearing certainly, but absolutely no longer to be permitted. I won’t upset my boy by displaying any actual bone structure, of that I am certain. Realistic is my middle name, after all. But I am convinced I will feel a lot more comfortable in my skin if that skin is no longer the size of a small South American country.


About pigletinapoke

I am a forty-something married mum of two, working in London and commuting a crazy amount of hours so I can enjoy living at the coast at weekends! I'm into netball, jointly coaching and running a successful ladies club. I also sail whenever I get the chance and took part in the Trans-Atlantic leg of the Clipper Round The World yacht race in 2009. I like movies, particularly stuff by Nancy Meyers in whose set designs I want to spend my life. I devour novels, biographies and anything to do with self-improvement. I like to drive fast and live slightly dangerously, attempting to experience everything and everywhere before my time is up. That's me in a nutshell - I hope you enjoy my blog. If you would like to use any of my articles or the pics, I would appreciate very much if you could ask me first. Never known to refuse to date. Thanks!

Posted on June 28, 2011, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Ha ha ! Love it. My son is similar and I seem to be a similar shape to you, however without your medical reason … He says I am squishy – which is sweet. Whereas my daughter wants to ‘put my arms all around you mummy like I can with nana’ – dream on girl !!
    Your blog is fab, keep posting !

    PS: I did a post about zumba at end of May – hopefully will make you chuckle .

  2. Why are the throw away comments that our children make the ones that stick? After I gave birth to baby, my squishy tummy was a funny source of amusement, but now 7mths down the line I’m not sure I want them to be blowing raspberries on it because it wobbles when they do. Will love to see how you get on at Zumba – there’s a class in my village but clashes with bedtime (they need to do one at 10pm though to be sure of me getting there!).

    • I hate to tell you this but my daughter is 15 and STILL blows raspberries on my tummy! All I’ve managed to curb is their tendency to do it in public – it can be so embarrassing in the middle of Costa Coffee! Keep blogging – it saves on the therapy fees! X

  3. Just found you through Brit Mums…. Very funny blog you have here, loved the post about the village hall ‘fashion show’.
    I’m at http://www.liviloudude.blogspot.com if you get chance to stop by! Nat

    • Ah thanks so much. I’ve been thinking about putting a disclaimer on my blog saying any characters and events are hugely over-exaggerated before someone in the village sues me for defamation of character, but decided I can’t be a*rsed! Love your blog and defo want to meet your Gran – she sounds like a riot x

  4. You have summed up exactly how I feel about my weight. I just don’t have the medical reason. It’s all pure greed with me. I’ve been to Zumba again – it’s hilarious. There was a man in jeans there this week and a woman in a strapless top! Looking forward to following you – great post. RW

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