Wednesday, 9 June 2010

The incredible shrinking Trout

Yesterday I managed to eat:

Two pieces of toast with Marmite, One Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese bagel, a small Beetroot and Cous Cous salad with extra lettuce and tomatoes, 1lb of cherries, a pizza (with three types of meat on it), a lemon tart, a Magnum ice-cream and three pieces of fudge from some pick n’ mix.

This is not an unusual day’s intake and so it follows that the extra pounds I am hulking around are clearly not “all baby”. Extra lumps and bumps have appeared around my bottom and thighs with cellulite creeping around my arms. My increasing breasts (not in a sexy way – more matronly in style) now have a geographical map of veins spreading across this new expanse of flesh whilst my stomach fills out so that my matronly bosoms can rest upon it. My proportions are ever growing. My curvy, clearly defined, size 12 lines have melted into obscurity. I am now a waddling blob.

This is fine, I can handle it.

As I sit here typing away, I am finishing off the pick and mix from last night’s trip to the cinema with Vivienne Westwood and Lady Violet. Clearly I am not so distraught by my new vastness that I am actually prepared to stop eating. God Forbid.

The ladies and I met up in Tottenham Court Road for our Sex and The City 2 ritual.  While I waited for the arrival of my dear friends I did a spot of shopping, actually managing to find a couple of non-maternity items that suited and fitted me. In the changing room I tried on a navy vest top with a gold pattern which seemed to help detract from my immense stomach. I had picked up a size 16 to accommodate my front bulk, but it felt a tad tight as I pulled it on.  Once it was shimmied into place though it looked quite good so I carried it to the cash desk.

As the woman started cashing the goods I suddenly noticed the label on the vest top staring at me.

“Size 8”

“Hang on,” I said to the woman “Is that……is that a size 8?”

“Yes.” she said

“But….” I was absolutely stupefied as the reality of the situation came over me.

I was almost six months pregnant and I had got into a size 8.

I haven’t been a size 8 since I was aged 8.

I am still confused as to how this happened.

Naturally, in the end,  I purchased a roomier size 16 anyway which is more like a tent dress than a vest top but the fact still remains, for a moment, albeit a fleeting one, I was a size eight.

The moral of this story is: EAT. Size is just a label.


  1. when I moved to the US and all the sizes were different i realized how little it mattered. Plus at the time I wore a US size 2, which is just a silly number for clothes. I"m not even that small. I'm waiting for US clothing sizes to go into negative numbers.

  2. I'm having smoked salmon and cream cheese as well. Pregnancy really is the best excuse to pig out. I dread to think how hard I will need to try to get rid of all that weight again.

    Off to find some Coke. Dammit.

  3. In that case, I don't feel so bad about the family size cadbury block of chocolate I ate today....

  4. just remember a moment on the lips..........

  5. My diet this pregnancy is so bad I can't even contemplate it - but I am starting to wonder if I am in fact pregnant or whether the sprouting belly is mainly chocolate...