I know at the end of a long day, I’m too tired to do much – I veg in front of the TV, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, checking Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram… you get the gist. Me and the hubs don’t even talk that much – we’re both too shattered to do much except half watch a Restoration Man and enjoy the quiet.
But looking back over each day, I don’t seem to do much then either – I might hoover if X has made a giant mess, perhaps a walk to the supermarket and back, occasionally we might go to the park… but as a rule, I spend the entire day stopping X from hurling himself off the sofa, watching back to back episodes of Bing, and attempting to remember to drink my tea before it’s cold. Provided X and I both make it to Daddy’s home time in whole pieces I consider the day a success.
But this attitude isn’t doing me any favours. And now I’ve had a bit of a kick up the bum – I need to change the way things are around here or I’m going to have a serious health problem on my hands.
At the start of this year, I started going to Slimming World. I can’t remember the last time I was a size 10, and I have never really been happy with my weight, but I love my food too much and I have very little self control. Slimming World, however, started off really well – in the space of 5 weeks I’d lost a stone, I won a Slimmer of the Week award and was feeling so much better about myself. And then I stopped going to group – mostly because X had decided he was no longer going to sleep through it, and he just wanted to run around, which really wasn’t practical, and would send me into a mild panic attack just thinking about the potential tantrum.
Even though I stopped going, we kept most of the theory in practice at home with our cooking – a lot of our big evening meals are Syn free and contain a lot more veg. I didn’t put the weight back on, but I also didn’t lose any more (I blame the cake…)
Since the operation I had back in June, I’ve been ridiculously run down – I literally can’t find the energy to get dressed some days, let alone regularly exercise. So, after a lot of nagging from Rob, I finally dragged my exhausted backside up to the GP. I said that I was shattered all the time, my brain seemed fuzzy, I never felt like I’d properly woken up, I wasn’t really eating during the day… he looked at some blood test results from my pre-op bloods and told me my B12 was on the low side, but my Folate levels were HALF what they should be. HALF. Symptoms of folate deficiency? All of my symptoms, plus ones I hadn’t even thought were symptoms – like forgetfulness which I’d put down to baby brain – are folate deficiency symptoms. Also, low B12 can cause anxiety… things were starting to add up.
The final boot up the backside came when I got on the scales on Sunday and found I’d put 9lbs on since the op. 9 POUNDS. My heart sank. How can I be the best Mummy, the best wife, the best person I can be when I’m just not looking after myself? The fact that I’d ballooned again, the fact that I now rattle with the number of vitamin tablets I’ve been prescribed because I’m not getting all the right things from my diet? I can’t carry on like this.
So I’ve made a decision; this isn’t going to be a huge sweeping declaration because those don’t stick with me – there’s too much pressure if it starts to go wrong, and the temptation is always to give up before totally failing. I am going to start looking after myself – and I don’t mean by having more “me” time, or more relaxation, or a spa day… I mean, eating better, exercise, battling this social anxiety that holds me back. I’m going to get out of the house more, even if it is only to the newsagents. I’m going to drag my sorry butt over to brummymummyof2‘s brummymummy meet up in Cannon Hill Park and enjoy myself despite X’s inevitable tantrum over the wrong sippy cup.
“You only fail if you do not try”, so says the saying. So I’m going to try.