The many emotions of dieting

There’s the obvious – hunger, a bad case of the grumps, the dread as you step on to the scales the first time, the blind hope every other time you step on them. Joy when you lose, dispair when you don’t.

Then there’s the less obvious. I discovered one today. Happiness, yet at the same time, utter misery. I’ve reached a milestone – I’ve lost a stone. Hooray! There’s the happiness side.

I went to get dressed this morning after the happy weigh in, got the outfit out that I had decided on last night. I always plan sunday clothes ahead so I can check they’re clean and haven’t been eaten by the washing machine, or disappeared into one of Sam’s abysses. This prevents excess Sunday morning stress (SMS).

Today, my perfected system totally failed. I picked an outfit, one of my wardrobe staples. A turquoise-y top (bonus, warm as it’s wool or something like wool) that I got for Christmas and a black pencil skirt. Are you ready? because here comes the Happiness/Misery combo – lets call it Happery.

I put on the top. I put on the skirt. I looked in the mirror. The skirt was sitting about 4 inches too low. Not a huge deal, it’s a high waisted skirt. Except it’s also tapered around the hips. That’s right, my favourite skirt now bulges at the top of my thighs. Nice. The annoying part is, I’m NOT FAT THERE. Well, not lumpily anyway. Here is where the SMS starts to rise, as we’re running out of clothes-picking time and into feeding the children time.

Look for a clean skirt that fits and matches the already picked out top. No Chance.

Find ANY clean skirt that fits. Done. Only the new skirt has box pleats. This means a lot of ironing. I will take it, because the alternative is no skirt at all, and that is really frowned upon.

Here is where Rich can tell I’m SMSing, because I am in the kitchen wearing a turquoise top, already have earrings and a necklace on, and I’m ironing a green skirt.

He wisely ushered the children away from me and didn’t mention it.

I then have to pick a new top. Every white top I own is in the wash or has been delegated to exercise/painting/kids craft clothes because of child stains. I eventually settle on a brown top that sort of goes. I try to stop thinking that people will think I have no style and some sort of woodland theme going on, and go downstairs for breakfast.

Except I then realise, it’s fast Sunday. Which brings me back to happery, because yes, I love to eat, so it makes me sad that I can’t, but the things I now eat for breakfast are not fun anyway, and hey, a missed meal is missed calories.

Oh lovely black skirt. I shall miss you. Why couldn’t it be you that got slightly shrunk in the wash like so many other loved clothes. I shall miss you so much. Thank goodness you were cheap. I’ll probably replace you fairly soon, but for a moment there I was completely lost.


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