So like I mentioned last time, I’m returning to work tomorrow. Which is going to be surreal AF after 15 months off and some extensive remodeling on my part.
What I eventually got for all my time & trouble was pretty much just a fatter arse & thighs that could crush a man’s skull but also, I suppose as an unintended side effect, a little peace within myself too. So I’m definitely not entirely the same kettle of fish going back at all. Chrissy 2.0 is kind of a lot happier, although sadly still not remotely bionic, and maybe a little more able to roll with life’s punches as they happen.
Some of that probably boils down to me being a larger fleshier target to begin with. I might not register an actual blow to my belly for hours. Me, junk food and particularly sweet things have hugely enjoyed our torrid enough affair this last year or so.
My current shape also tells me I definitely took to comfort eating like a duck to water. But I’ve never felt guilty about it. And I’m never going to. All in, I’m around 21 pounds heavier since I had my surgery. My little kebab baby is actually bang on the developmental weight for her age. And I’m OK with being a bit extra. Mainly because I’m pretty content. I’m not feeling pressure to be anywhere but where I am. Even if my current demeanour does say more paunch than raunch to the casual beholder.
However comfortable I might be, I’m still looking forward to getting more exercise than I have been currently. That alone should help me shift some of 2018 from my midriff. But there’s no real pressure within myself to be a particular size any more. If I lose it, great and if I don’t, there are always bigger trousers. Let the kettle chips fall where they may. I have bigger things to concern me. Like worryingly finding the cop in the video a wee bit hotter than my eyes say he probably is. That’s perhaps a whole hormone fuelled post of it’s own. And it’s already breakfast time.