The diet ADD merry-go-round

Sorry I’ve been a little quiet on the blog front, I’ve been held hostage by a sick grumpy baby and a uni assignment along with a new addiction to selling stuff I no longer want. So far I’ve sold two books for a total of $4 but I’ve also listed some size 10 dresses on Ebay because every time I open my cupboard I can feel them judging me.

So why this new found urge to purge the house of unwanted items? I’ve decided it’s time to get my shit together and tackle the things in my life that make me miserable. One of these things is a cluttered house. I’m more minimalist than hoarder and given that our house is now overrun by fluffy elephants and stacking cups, I’ve decided to get rid of the crap I no longer need.

Another thing I’ve decided to tackle is the extra layer of fat currently residing around my butt and the pool noodle of dough that is cascading over the waistband of my nana pants as I write this. Enough is enough. I am unhealthily overweight and I hate it. Time to change my lifestyle and get happy.

Over the past six months I have pretty much tried and failed at almost every program out there. It goes a little something like this:

Step 1: I find a new shiny weight loss program and decide to throw myself into it…starting Monday (I decide this while munching on a French Vanilla macaroon and slurping a Jumbo fat white – the missing ‘l’ is intentional). I fill out my weight loss spreadsheet and decide to lose 8kgs before we head to Port Douglas in December. Goodbye kaftan, hello keeners!

Step 2: Monday arrives and I jump out of bed, pop on the gym gear I laid out the night before and get on the treadmill by 5.45am. Yes, I am the champion of Monday motivation. Roar! I eat well all day and go to bed feeling like I’m finally on the path to post-baby hotness.

Step 3: Wednesday rolls in and the alarm miraculously fails to go off. Never mind, I tell myself,  I’ll get to the gym tomorrow. I snuggle into the doona and get a few more zzz’s. I shuffle out of bed at 7am, feed Moo, then start to prepare my breakfast of two boiled eggs with Ryvita. When I open the pantry, I notice the biscuits I bought “incase someone comes over for tea”. I stare at the eggs, then back at the biscuits and decide one little treat won’t hurt. By lunchtime I am covered in chocolate chips and dunking a spoon into a tub of cookies and cream “light” ice-cream.

Incidently, no one has ever come over unexpectedly for tea…

And so it goes…I’m surprised my butt isn’t all shades of blue from falling off the wagon so many effing times.

I started with Weight Watchers. I toddled off to meetings clutching my weigh-in book and stood on an industrial scale in front of 10 other fatties, but by Week 4 I was racking up 54 points instead of the recommended 36, thanks to my friend Lindt Ball and his mate Freddo.

Then I got microwave happy on Lite n’ Easy. I was all about the miniature pikelets for brekkie and frozen meatballs for lunch but ended up ripping open Day 7’s snack bag on Day 2. Those date biscuits were calling my name.

Frustrated and rotund, I decided that Michelle Bridges 12 Week Body Transformation (12WBT) was going to change my life. I did all the pre-season tasks – cleared out the pantry, created a Pinterest 12WBT inspiration board and stuck a pick of buff Mish with a motivational message on the fridge. This was it (insert fist pump)! I gymed six times a week, ate a Korean beef hot pot that looked like sewer water and spent over $300 a week ticking off Michelle’s extensive shopping list. I felt great! I was in control and losing weight, until…

…the 12WBT ended up being the 4WBT. Yes I lost weight but then my husband went overseas and my gym routine went out the window and I found myself wading through another sea of excuses, munch, munch. All those red-faced burpees and mountain climbers gone to waste. Again.

So what now? Well, after Googling hypnosis for a week, I’ve signed up to Jenny Craig and I start tomorrow. My gym gear is already laid out.

So why do I think it’ll work this time? I’m going to use my mother-in-law as support. She’s successfully lost weight on Jenny Craig and knows how much I am struggling with the extra kgs. I’m also hoping one-on-one consultations will make me more accountable and I’ll be able to discuss the reason I eat too much. I know it’s a combination of boredom, stress and habit but I’ve never really focused on the cause before, only the effect. Until I fix my mind, I know nothing is going to work.

So here we go. Again. Fist pump.

Me in Sydney before I became an oompa loompa, I can't fit my foot into those jeans now.

In Sydney before I became an oompa loompa, I can’t fit my foot into those jeans now.

The perils of pregnesia

Finding the remote in the freezer, soap in the fridge and the car keys in the oven… all in a days work for an expectant mum suffering pregnancy-induced brain fog 

“My car is broken!” I screamed down the phone at Gary, one of Toyota’s Service Department employees. “And I have an appointment at the spa in 15 minutes!”

“Now just take a deep breath and let’s talk through this,” said a calm and sympathetic Gary, “What happens when you turn the key?”

“Nothing! Nothing happens! The air con and radio start but the engine is dead! It’s like the engine is flooded or something!”

“Ok, ok. Is the car a manual or an automatic?”

“Manual.”

“Right, ok, do you have your foot on the clutch?”

“…Um, no.”

“Ok, a manual won’t start unless you have your foot on the clutch.”

“I know, I’ve been driving a manual for 14 years!”

“Ok, ok, now put your foot on the clutch and turn the key. Is the car starting now?”

“Um, yes, thanks Gary. It’s all good. Sorry, I’m pregnant. Um, bye.”

The day I forgot how to drive was the day I began to believe in pregnancy brain, also referred to as ‘pregnesia’, ‘momnesia’, ‘placenta brain’ and ‘I-think-I-am-losing-my-mind syndrome’. Urban Dictionary describes it as “confusion and short term memory loss that happens during pregnancy” offering the following examples of the term being used in a sentence:

“Hey placenta brain, what’s the soap doing in the fridge?”

“My wife is such a placenta brain. Yesterday I caught her eating chalk. She said she needed the calcium.”

While I have yet to feature on My Strange Addiction chomping on chalk, my lapses in brain function didn’t stop at Clutchgate. During my pregnancy, I not only forgot how to drive, I also frequently found the TV remote in the freezer, my car keys in the oven and managed to stock pile six rolls of tin foil after forgetting to throw away the post-it note on the fridge that said “buy tin foil” (and forgetting that I had in fact bought tin foil on my last five trips to the supermarket).

I’m not alone. 80% of pregnant women experience some form of impaired cognitive function during pregnancy so it’s no surprise that pregnancy discussion forums are full of hormonal women complaining about their brain capacity diminishing as their bellies expand. As if nine months of kankles, back pain and an overzealous bladder wasn’t enough.

At about 22 weeks pregnant, I remember standing at an ATM on my lunch break trying desperately to remember my PIN number. When the digits failed to come to me I waddled around the block before returning to the ATM with chafed thighs and a restored memory.

On another occasion I managed to remember my PIN but I forgot to take the money out of the ATM dispenser. I then went to lunch with the girls and ended up red-faced when the bill came as the 80 bucks I had withdrawn had apparently evaporated along with my ability to string a cohesive sentence together without punctuating it with “Um…”.

A lot of research has been done into pregnancy brain with many different theories emerging on the potential cause.

Heidi Murkoff, author of the ‘pregnancy bible’ What to Expect When You’re Expecting, blames those pesky hormones which are responsible for a plethora of other unwanted pregnancy symptoms including snoring, water retention, foot growth and farting like a tortilla-loving truck driver.

Some blame the fact that growing babies absorb a lot of Omega 3 fatty acids that are essential for brain function, others think it may be due to a lack of sleep as pregnant women try to find a horizontal position that accommodates their growing bump.

A more controversial theory is that the brain actually shrinks during pregnancy, which would make it the only part of the anatomy that doesn’t do the opposite.

Other experts are adamant that pregnant women do not have any cognitive defects and should be able to perform functions just as well as their flat-bellied contemporaries. To that, Gary and I say codswallop.

pregnant

Me at about 6 months pregnant no doubt mistaking the dog for my husband

So what can be done about these bouts of cringe-worthy idiocracy?

Well, not much. You can try and write things down but you’ll probably forget where you put the piece of paper. You can delegate jobs to your husband but you’ll probably forget you asked him to pick up a parcel and end up abusing the unsuspecting post office attendant and leaving empty-handed (Huan, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry).

The best thing to do is accept that pregnancy brain is as inevitable as your feet resembling 10 pork sausages sticking out of two giant burger buns. So put them up, maintain your sense of humour and try not to kill anyone.

As for me, I wish my pregnancy-related car troubles had ended when I hung up on Gary. After Clutchgate, my husband and I decided to buy a family-sized 4WD with automatic transmission (sorry environment). No clutch, perfect, right? Well…

At about 30 weeks pregnant I attended a work conference. At the end of the day, I found myself staring at a vacant car spot in disbelief. In a panic, I rang my husband and left a message on his voicemail, “The car has been stolen! Call me immediately!”

As I prepared to dial the police a faintly familiar number plate invaded my peripheral vision. My car it appeared had taken a day trip to the opposite end of the car park only to be stopped in its tracks by a ‘No Entry’ sign that it had knocked over to a 45 degree angle. I toddled over, opened the car door and realised I had forgotten to put the car in park and also failed to engage the park brake.

I texted two short words to my husband that seemed to sum it up, “Never mind.”

Another year older and full of gratitude

WARNING: soppy post ahead…

This week I am turning 33. As someone who is prone to complaining and focusing on the negative, I thought my birthday was a good time to take stock of my life and focus on the positives because in the words of one of my favourite composers, John Bucchino, “grateful, grateful, truly grateful I am”.

Today –

I am grateful for my close friends who invest their time and love into moulding a caring and meaningful relationship with me.

I am grateful for my sense of humour that has turned dark times into memories I can laugh at over a glass of sauv.

I am grateful for all the shitty, tumultuous and sometimes abusive relationships that made me recognise and appreciate a good man.

I am grateful that after seven years I call that good man my husband and that every time I see him tickle our baby boy, I fall more in love with him.

I am grateful for my imperfect body that grew and continues to nurture a beautiful new life.

I am grateful for our often messy home that is filled with warmth, laughter and personality, and for our street full of talkative and supportive neighbours (bar one).

I am grateful to have spent 21 years of my life in the magnificent, vibrant and culturally diverse South Africa and to have witnessed the end of apartheid.

I am grateful for the organic supermarket in Seddon that always has stock of Joe’s Chocolate Ripple ice cream when I’ve had a bad day and for acknowledging my patronage with a 5% discount.

I am grateful that despite being given a 5-10% chance of conceiving naturally, we managed to fall pregnant without the heartache and stress of IVF that so many people we love have had to face.

collage

I am grateful for our ‘defective’ pedigree fluff child Wilbur who loves burrowing into the back of my knees each night to share my love of trashy TV.

I am grateful that I married a man whose family is as loveable as he is.

I am grateful that my biggest financial worry is how I am going to afford a monthly facial, an over-priced maxi dress and our dog’s annual Christmas portrait.

I am grateful for Mondays spent with my mothers group who have alleviated the loneliness of being a stay-at-home mum.

I am grateful to live in a country where I can go for long walks with my baby and never feel unsafe.

I am grateful to have travelled extensively and seen sights that will remain perfect snapshots in my memory, that sunset in Santorini, walking through the villages of Cinque Terre…

I am grateful for a mother who can make me laugh like no other person in the world and who stays up past midnight every year so she can be the first to wish me a happy birthday.

I am grateful for a father whose intelligence, stability and love has created the foundation for my abundant and confident life.

I am grateful for my sister whose marathon Skype chats always remind me that I am a powerful and capable woman and a great Mum, and for my nieces who emanate all that is right with the world.

I am grateful for my son who moves me every day and who has redefined my life in the best possible way.

I am grateful that at (nearly) 33, my life is all that I imagined and hoped it would be.