With this pregnancy, just as when I was pregnant with Frog, I’ve found myself eating more healthily, getting more exercise and making sure I go to bed at a reasonable hour. It seems I need the excuse of growing another human to take proper care of myself.

I’ve never been a massive health freak. I find the gym boring and conversations about diets dull. At university I joined the Yoga club and did three sessions of Yoga a week (the relaxation bit at the end was my favourite), along with enduring a regular visit to the gym to try and balance out my excessive student alcohol consumption. But that’s as far as it went.

I love swimming and riding my bike and going for long walks, but not because of the effect these activities have on my body. I just think they’re fun things to do. And, to be honest, give me the option of a long bike ride or a trip to the pub and I’d probably choose the latter (if I wasn’t pregnant).

I suppose I’m lucky, in that my weight has never been an issue. I’m not saying I’m naturally toned with a flat stomach and arms Cameron Diaz would envy. But I’ve never been larger than a size 12 and my weight has always stayed safely in that BMI chart thingy. Of course there are times of the year when I’ve been more wobbly than others (oh how I love Christmas), but it’s not something I’ve ever really obsessed over. I suppose I’ve always had more important things on my mind.

So I’ve been surprised at how I’ve felt about my changing body shape with this pregnancy.

From eight weeks my favourite pair of jeans felt so snug I had to undo them when I sat down. Tights cut me in half and create a weird two-stomach look unless I pull them right up to my armpits Simon Cowell style, or roll them under my ever-growing belly. But rather than embrace the new curves I’ve felt, well, a bit crap.

I remember this in-between bump stage with Frog well. I spent much of my time sucking my stomach in to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes or puffing it out to fill out my expanding maternity wardrobe. I was terrified people would just think I had put on a load of weight, without realising I was pregnant. Which is weird, because like I said before, weight wasn’t something I’d obsessed over pre-pregnancy.

And now it’s happening all over again.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a good round bump. I enjoyed being pregnant with Frog and was blessed with a non-eventful pregnancy. From around five months I stopped having to suck in or puff out my belly and felt all glowy, revelling in the curves.

People tell me you can show earlier with your second child, because your muscles are already somewhat stretched. Or maybe they’re just saying that to make me feel better. Either way, I’m still waiting to hit that magic I Fit My Maternity Clothes Perfectly and Look Obviously Pregnant stage. I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin at the moment and it’s a bit of a strange feeling.

I realise this may all sound terribly shallow. After all, the most important thing is that my baby is growing healthily. How I look while it gets bigger is of no consequence really. But there is something to be said in feeling comfy and confident – or at least NOT feeling like you want to hide in your house until you pass the in-between bump stage.

I’ll be honest and say this isn’t something I’d usually write about. Or talk about really. If you’ve made it this far then thank you for reading and please don’t think I’m not a) aware of how lucky I am to be pregnant with a planned baby and b) obsessed with the way I look.

And if you have any tips for ways I can stop feeling like a bloated whale until my baby bump is “proper” and start liking my body again then please do share.

The post On accepting (and trying to love) my changing body shape appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s not a huge thing. And I don’t want to get bogged down in blogging about it (although I probably will, eventually), but it’s a thing nonetheless.

As the weather heats up, rains and heats up again, I’ve been having a daily dilemma about what to wear. I say “dilemma”, and I mean “dilemma”. My more dramatic moments have seen me point blank refuse to leave the house. It’s that body thing again, you know. 

Anyway, my wardrobe’s saving grace has been a maxi dress I bought last year from Sainsbury’s. (Yeah, I know – the best fashionistas probably don’t buy their clothes next to the fruit and veg section, but you’ve got to take your fashion fixes where you can when you have a diva toddler who doesn’t like shopping.)

This dress has got me from hot to cold, to sun to rain. It’s hidden the bits of my body I’m currently having that thing about, and made me walk a step taller when all I really want to do is crawl under a rock / back onto my sofa and hide.

So, in an attempt to recreate this Maxi saviour, I’ve been trawling Shopcade in the hopes of finding something similar.

Here’s what I’ve come up with:

Or if you prefer your dresses a bit less stripy and a tad busier, there are these beauties…

Which one should I go for? Votes in now.

***

As a Shopcade ambassador I am compensated for occasionally featuring the site on this blog. All views remain my own. To find out more about Shopcade, have a read of this post. 

The post Maxi fantasti appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Photo credit: picture by Chris_J

I was a different shape before I became a mum. My boobs were a little fuller, my bum was a little rounder.

I had made a conscious effort to “get fit”, going to the gym three times a week and killing myself at spinning classes. But I was no fitness fanatic – I was just aware there was too much flesh in places that had, before, been smoother.

On having a baby, my body changed.

The boobs became bigger, the belly became wobblier. But, overall, my actual weight wasn’t much different. And that’s how I know never to measure my body’s shape by how much it weighs. My body just doesn’t work like that.

I can have “fat days” where the scales tell me I weigh less than the week before. I can have “thin days” where my favourite jeans slide on without so much as a wiggle, but the scales tell me I’m heavier than I once was.

Since taking on a job in January that involves getting up at 3.30am and being on the go until 10pm, my body has steadily changed yet again.

I cope with tiredness by eating. Everything. Breakfast at 5am, another breakfast at 9am, a rushed snack from the petrol station on the way home (and you know it’s not going to be a salad), another snack with my hungry toddler in the afternoon, a meal around 5pm and more snacking.

Biscuits, cake, chocolate, crisps – these are all my friend. As is anything that can give me a quick sugar rush and fool my body into thinking it has enough fuel to get through another 6 hours without sleeping.

This is not good.

Slowly, I’ve noticed a bit of a double chin developing. My hips are no longer hips, instead sporting extra padding in the form of “love handles”.

Breakfast radio is not good for the figure.

So, around a month ago, I decided to do something about it.

Realistically, a gym membership is out of the question. With working at a radio station in the morning, running around after my toddler in the afternoon and all my writing work in the evenings, I am time poor. There is no time to preen myself like there was in the old days.

So I turned to the internet.

Twitter came up trumps. There seemed to be lots of buzz around @ThinkingSlimmer. Rolling my eyes and stifling a yawn, I inwardly scoffed, “As IF. Another faddy dieting thing. Whatever.”

But then we did a radio show about fad diets. I remembered this Twitter account and contacted the people behind @ThinkingSlimmer. Sandra Roycroft-Davies appeared on our show and I was intrigued by what she had to say. Rather than encouraging a diet, Sandra told me it was possible to retrain your mind to learn new habits.

For me, these habits mean not thinking about food ALL THE TIME. Not diving into the petrol station for a daily sausage roll to keep me company on the way home. And putting myself further up my list of priorities.

I started listening to one of the company’s “Slim Pods“. The ten minute piece of audio was very much like some form of meditation. Lulling me to sleep within minutes, rather than the former tossing and turning scenario. Waking from a deep sleep at 3.30am every day, I haven’t felt dead. I’ve actually been ready to face the day.

And I’ve stopped eating sausage rolls.

Instead, I still eat at the times I used to eat, but rather than crisps and cake, it’s been soup, toast, fruit, water. The kind of stuff my body actually needs to run on, rather than the stuff that tricks it.

And Sandra? She’s been lovely. The odd phone call to remind me to stop saying “Yes” to everything. The odd email to reprimand me for staying up too late working. Just like my mum really.

I have no idea if I weigh less than I did a month previously. But, for me, it’s not about that. I no longer have to breathe in when I put my jeans on. I’m sleeping better. I’m eating better. I feel better.

But I’m not going to stop listening to the audio before bed. It’s an ongoing thing – I need more than a month of listening to help me give up habits that have taken 6 months to form.

So the sausage rolls aren’t quite safe yet.

***

Disclosure: This is a review post. All words and opinions are my own. I was given a free copy of the Slimpod for review purposes.

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No, instead I’d like to talk about that wonderful subject: weight. Post-baby weight, in fact.

It’s a tricky one. I’m like millions of other women in being unhappy with my size. I don’t know why exactly, I’m not big. In fact, I’m smaller than I was before I got pregnant with Frog. But still, I’m not happy.

It’s all the lumps and bumps, you see. Plus the fact I’m getting married in just over two months and have every intention of upstaging Kate Middleton as being THE bride of 2011.

I tried exercise. It didn’t go well; I wet my pants, farted publically and flashed a bare breast by accident. I tried dieting. That didn’t go well either. I fell face first onto some cake. And then some wine. And then some chocolate.

So now I’m thinking, well, what now?

And here’s the thing. I’ve decided not do anything. Nothing. Not a jot. I’m not going to worry about my body. I’m not going to obsess about the size of my wobbly arse or the less-than-flat shape of my belly.

It’s not because I’ve suddenly realised I look better than J-Lo and Pippa Middleton combined. I don’t. Nor have I suddenly grown to love those wobbly areas I hated before. I still dislike them rather a lot.

It’s because of this article.

I’m loathe to link to it, but I can’t very well write the rest of this post without you at least having a glimpse of what has triggered it in the first place.

Had a look? What do you think?

Personally, I don’t think it does anyone any favours.

First of all, the woman who’s featured (or rather, ridiculed) in this article is clearly in great shape. Especially when you consider she’s had two children, not that long ago. So I disagree with that bit for starters. Secondly, apparently she’s admitted to an eating disorder in the past. Which makes poking fun at her all the more cruel and unnecessary. And thirdly, why does it matter?

And that’s the thing I haven’t been able to get out of my head all day. Why does it matter? Not just that, but why does it matter to me?

Is it because I’ve recently (yes I know she’s nearly one – but it still feels “recent” to me) had a baby myself? Is it because I’ve suddenly taken up my place in the sisterhood now I’m a mother? Is it because having a baby has made me ultra over-sensitive and a little bit moody?

I don’t think so. Or at least, I’m pretty sure the answer’s no to the first two questions.

Actually, I think the reason this article really gets to me is because I had a baby girl. A daughter. A daughter who will grow up to be  a teenager, to be a woman.

I don’t ever want her to hate her body. I don’t ever want her to feel too fat or too thin or too short or too tall. I want her to feel confident and comfortable and happy in who she is and what she looks like.

And articles like this really don’t help.

So that’s why I’ve decided to accept my own body, lumps and bumps and all. I eat healthily and attempt exercise. I’m not fat, but I’m not thin either. And that’s just how it is.

I’m going to quit moaning about not being the size of a supermodel and start leading my daughter by example. I’m going to start liking my body again, for what it is now. Not what it never will be.

And once I’ve completed that mission I’m going to don a very tiny cropped top and march up and down outside the offices of the Daily Mail. I bet they can’t wait.

*This post is for all the ladies in the MUMenTUM group.

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