In honour of my upcoming 30th anniversary in June, I have embarked on (yet another!) diet. The very thought of squeezing into sausage casing for photos on this most important evening makes me cringe in horror. So, with renewed determination to shed this unwanted muffin top, I am reblogging this tale of my ongoing struggle with the battle of the bulge- 🙂 Mother Hen
Be honest. Wouldn’t all of us on occasion like to be transported back in time to meet up with our younger self and just give her/him a good slap?
Now, before you spam my blog with warnings and lectures, I am not advocating violence or self-harm any more than I would advocate ACTUAL time travel, were that possible. We all know what would happen if we were to mess with quantum physics and the space/time continuum. We are talking metaphorically here, people. Bear with.
I said to my daughter recently, “You know, I never really worried much about my weight until I got into my 30’s…” She just laughed and levelled me with one of those, “Come on, let’s be HONEST” looks and said, “Mum. You have ALWAYS worried about your weight.”
And then I thought about it. Yep. She was right.
Cruising through high school at a…
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