Who ate all the pies?

I don’t know about you, but I know that since the birth of our children, I’ve put on a bit of weight.

Maybe you’re blessed with a fast metabolism, or you love exercise. Maybe food isn’t that exciting for you? For those of you sitting there smugly thinking that you’re doing ok, fair play. But leave. Go now. This isn’t for you. 

This is for those who struggle to find the motivation to run, cycle, swim, go to the gym, watch their calories and cut back on sweets, biscuits and chocolate. My people – I love you all. We took on eating for two as a challenge, a 9 month all you can eat bonanza facilitated by your partner and her cravings. A chance to eat lots and often, utilising takeaways at every opportunity. On our way home from antenatal classes first time around, we would stop for KFC on the way home. A Zinger Tower Fillet Burger meal later and we would depart, both cradling our bumps as we made our way home and contemplating something seeet and a cup of tea once we were home.
Unlike my friend at her blog ‘Break Out the Skinny Girl’ (check her out at http://www.breakouttheskinnygirl.com) who has developed some serious willpower, mine tends to bend like it’s been doing yoga, which is somewhat ironic as the rest of me is highly inflexible. I’ve often stated that my body is a temple; in ruins and long abandoned as a place of worship. 

I recently started a gym membership in an attempt to kick start my fitness regime. The first month actually went pretty well – it was hard but I managed to get to a point where I was getting fitter and more comfortable going. Then a knee injury meant I couldn’t go for a couple of months and I’m back to square one. Every time I get ready to go back, I manage to tweak my knee again and the whole process starts again.

It’s also not helped by the fact that I’m simply not motivated to go. Going means extra effort, using energy that I need to function after a patchy night of sleep. And on top of that, the other half is keen to tone up and exercise, so she goes to a lot of classes in the evening. This only leaves the mornings – two of which I drop off the Bear Cub at nursery then start work so they tend to be easy to rule out. 

The remainder depend on the other half being with the children on her own whilst I disappear – something that she’s fine with but I feel bad about as she has them all day already. And if the Little Boofuls has had a bad night, or the Bear Cub has woken the entire neighbourhood at 5am, I talk myself out of these times too, using ‘being supportive’ as the deflector to achieving fitness. 

My hope is that the money I ‘invest’ in the gym is at least not funding my sweet tooth, so I’m helping myself in some way. Ironically I pay twice, having gifted the other half a gym membership at Christmas. Before you judge me, she wanted it and I don’t think she needs it – she’s already gorgeous. Although the worry associated with making her even more appealing to look at might actually burn a few more precious calories, if only I could stop stress eating to compensate…

So here I am; podgy, padded and plodding around, man boobs and all. I wonder if this is it – will fatherhood leave me forever feeling bloated, unattractive and lethargic? Is there any benefit at all? It seems there is one…

The Little Boofuls sleeps on me better than anyone else. My padded torso is exactly what she needs to drop off when a boob only seems to make her windy and uncomfortable. I am the ultimate daddy mattress; warm, comfortable and cuddly.  

During those wonderful naptimes I realise that I am perfect for her needs right now. I’ll slim down when she starts racing about and getting into everything, I’ll lose the weight when she starts eating all of her dinner and I don’t get the opportunity to finish it for her. 

But for now, I’m fine just the way I am. I have a job to do, and those pies won’t eat themselves… 


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