The spare in the boot

Of the many things I disliked about being pregnant, the horror of what my body turned into is the one that continues to haunt me. It was not so much that it did things it shouldn't, after all I was carrying another life and I had fully expected to increase in girth etc, but it was more that with each day I could see my previously fit and relatively firm self turning into a whale. I had a deep seated fear about turning into a whale (those who know me will know why and to whom I refer), and it scared the hell out of me that I would never manage to fit normal clothes again and how much work it would take to come even close.

I am, therefore, rather proud that I have snapped back into shape (although my friend S, mother of 3, told me I would). It has been relatively easy - but then I am back to full rowing training so 5 sessions of exercise a week probably wouldn't seem easy to many people - and I am rather pleased with myself. Except for one thing.

I have a fold of skin around my middle that will not shift. It sits there wobbling at me menacingly, mocking me, falling out over the top of low sling jeans. However hard I train, however many yoga sessions I do, however little I eat (although I am porking a bit at the moment), it is still there and laughing at me.

I saw my friend P a couple of weeks ago, who has a son the same age as Eve. She too looks great but also has the same bit around her middle (although hers is considerably smaller than mine). She is seriously considering liposuction. At the time I mocked her, but the more I look (and, more importantly, look at my non-baby friends who lack this little delight) the more I think it might not be such a stupid idea.