Another Frigging New Year's Eve...

It’s upon us again. New-Year’s Eve. A time to reflect, regret or look with blind optimism on all the things you are going to so much better the year ahead. While last year may have been a near waste of time, marked by unfulfilled goals, broken promises, unrealised dreams, must do’s that didn’t even get a look in and general disappointment, this New Year will be entirely different. I always get this delusional feeling around now as I sip my first glass of Champagne that the next year is going to be brimming with pro-activity. It’s going to be go, go, go. And while some of the previous years have had a certain residual feeling of discontentment, this next year however, is going to be an absolute corker of one personal success story after another. Of course I will be losing tonnes of weight (despite possibly falling pregnant), a lottery winner (not the $12 kind if you know what I mean) and be successful in my brand new career which presently is a secret even to myself. But the universe provides doesn’t it? I mean I watched the Secret too, ask and you will receive. So yes, I am at the precipice of an incredible journey that will be 2010. And let me quote something from my mentor Tony Robbins-“The past does not equal the present…”
So, it is obviously after Christmas and we are at that precarious time when hub and I were supposed to be “trying” for a baby but alas a visit with my beautiful friend and doctor has bought me three extra months. Three pro- active, successful months that is.
My darling friend Penelope, upon hearing about my current condition (few girly issues) and the fact that I haven’t been for the dreaded pap smear for eons, insisted accompanying me to Doc appointment ensuring of course that I didn’t cancel for say something more fun like checking out the sales in Chattie Chase (went there today, 5 million people pushing, shoving, being vile and nearly maimed down by an Asian Camry driver talking on his Iphone doing 70 in the car park –having cervix scraped was far more pleasant).
So arrived with Pen in tow who looked as always effortlessly chic. Her honey blonde hair sitting rather non deliberately perfect, slim fitting designer jeans and brand new Kate Spade gum boots (some summer we are having!) and after pleasantries Marina says “O.k, get up on the scales, I am going to weigh you.”
“What? Do you have to? Why?”
“Because I need to record your weight and height.”
Note to self: do not go to doctor with size 6 friend. My mind flashed back to the day before where my best friend Daniel had declared it a day of movies and eating. Healthy stuff like fig and chocolate panettone, an incredible antipasto platter we had acquired from Five Dock with a rich assortment of cheeses, cold meats dips and just stuff immersed in Olive oil, slabs of homemade mushroom lasagne courtesy of our Italian friend Stefano (get him in a kitchen; magic happens) and my rocky road ice cream sundae with chopped up double dipped Cherry Ripes All washed down with either champagne or wine. So, yes we let our heads go. I am not going to lie.
“Its just that yesterday I ate a lot and same with the day before that …just don’t say it out loud or tell me…I’m not emotionally ready..”
So got on the scales, holding my breath which I am sure saved a few kilos right there. Breathing weighs heaps!
“You know,” Marina says delicately, ‘even if you could lose just 5 kilos you wouldn’t be so overweight …have you tried cutting down on white bread, potatoes, pasta and sugar after 7:30pm?“
“Or just saying no to some things,” suggested Pen sitting there in her size 6 body, “You know, maybe not having desserts every day or just cutting down on the amount of butter you have on toast… not having creamy sauces with your pasta.”.
“Or,” pipes up Marina who would be a size 8 if she put on a few kilos, “try walking every day.”
What fab ideas! Cutting down on all starches and refined sugars before bedtime. Why hadn’t anyone ever told me? Why hadn’t I heard of such pearls of wisdom? I mean I customarily find myself face down in a bowl of Fettuccine Cabonara come 7:30pm. Followed by possibly a piece of chocolate mud cake smotherd in icecream. So that’s why I’m am fat! Well this is going to revolutionise my entire diet. Thank you my skinny friends.
What I adore about people who are naturally slim with their idea of a fat day perhaps the suggestion of a muffin top over their size 8 jeans post 6 week holiday in Europe is the notion that the chubby one doesn’t know what to eat or is quite clueless on the idea of exercise. And if I did eat in such a devil may care, Kerry Packeresque type of way I would be the size of Ruby. But what many of the tiny lovelies don’t know is the horrendous journey of failed diets that has brought you to this size 14-16 moment of obesity. And mine certainly has been colourful
One of my earliest dieting memories and still a firm favourite was the Herbal Life experience. You’ve gotta love a selection of “herbal” tablets to eat for lunch and dinner. Mmmm…that weight is so going to stay off; not. Duramine in my 20’s…. that was awesome for my nervous system especially downed with my body weight in vodka. Quite a few nights out on the town with that concoction. Jenny Craig and her packets of, at the time, of re constituted foulness. But the faux choccie chip cookies… what’s not to love? Weight Watchers seemed promising (they all do in that first fortnight) but the points system ( I’m no mathematician),all the little books and the team leaders who would talk using diagrams and pie charts…it was a relationship deemed to fail. The Fit for Life diet with it’s tricky food combination. Rules, rules, rules! Or what about the Raw Food Diet? That was a huge laugh!”Your not going to join us for dinner Aleesa ?”
“No I just want to stay home and eat my brussel sprout salad. I just love raw food.” Happy days. The slimming tea I bought over the net with it’s interesting aftermath of a dry mouth and insomnia. Reductil is good if you want your breath to smell like the inside of a carcass (especially handy being a makeup artist). Joshi Detox was quite doable. Felt fantastic on it even if it did mean quite a bit of preparation (you fail to prepare, you prepare to fail). “I am going to eat like this forever” I declared to anyone who would listen,” Alcohol, coffee and sugar? Don’t miss it. Don’t miss it at all.” And then an event would surely follow and I‘d spend the night indeed the week re-toxing like a champion. Lemon detox. Another goody because depriving yourself completely of solids and drinking a watery, lemony, syrupy drink sprinkled with Cayenne Pepper for breakfast, lunch and dinner is a sure fire way of long term weight loss. Get real Tania Zaetta! CSIRO diet. Fine if you like your meat and three veg. It was like stepping into a time machine and returning to my childhood. The lets be a vegan tangent thanks to The Skinny Bitch girls (freaks!) had a lifespan of 5 days. And the interesting little “naturopath” in Fairfield and his “herbs” that funny enough do make you completely forget about eating. But at $80 per week so they bloody well should. And not forgetting the getting a little hard -core days of The 12 Week Body Challenge. Yes in 12 weeks I looked hot but recoiled at the thought of another egg white omelette, can of tuna in springwater or Myolplex protein shake. And working out to muscle fatigue? Cardio till you vomit? Does the diet come with a sports psychologist? No I didn’t think so.
So here we are. My doctor has told me I really should lose weight before trying for child. Plus have to get an ultra sound, see gyno, wait for results of blood tests and start on the folic acid. So I have an extra 3 months up my sleeve!
“And I think this preparation will really help with your mindset at the moment…”
Thanks Marina. I think so too! I am going to be so taut, slim, healthy, successful, rich, happy and spiritual. I am going to read books, sponsor a Congolese woman, spend more time with my family, learn French, Italian and dance plus finally visit Malta and Sicily….I am going to be rocking…bring on 2010!!!

Another Frigging Christmas...

One minute I’m devouring a Cadbury cream egg in April and within a blink of an eye everything is all green, red and tinselly and you can’t get a park in Westfield for the love of all things pagan. This Christmas especially has a more ominous quality.

Not celebrating my 37^th birthday in Noosa, we were in the spa on the balcony, gorgeous sea breeze, the blissful sound of the ocean gently lapping on the shore when I piped up to hub who is admittedly a smidgen younger than me (not as young as I’d like to be perfectly honest) and asked the golden question, “so do you still want to have a baby?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

“I don’t mind if you’re not sure…I mean I’m fine if you don’t want one…”

“I want one.”

I sighed at the inevitable “So when do you want to start trying”?

“Mmm…how about after Christmas at the end of the year.”

How about after Christmas at the end of the year? Can we keep this thing at arm’s length any longer? Apparently not. So there we have it! A confirmation. Looks like we can’t keep ducking and weaving forever. And quite frankly, I didn’t want him to turn around, say if we were in a spa not celebrating my 40^th and exclaim “let’s have a baby!”

God knows my husband has no concept of time. Like recently when I illustrated how he has attended the gym twice the whole year and doing the math…that’s approximately $564 per visit. . “Rubbish,” he said. “It’s just these last few months. I went heaps at the beginning of the year when you were in London.” Newsflash! Last time I visited London was May 2008. Yep! No concept of time. Which brings me to the reality of this moment. Christmas is a mere breath away and I, oddly enough, am not prepared in the slightest for the pregnancy I have been delaying for 3 years. Did we perhaps lose that pesky 10 now 12kgs? Nope. Detox our putrid body so it’s all lovely and fresh for foetus? Hardly. Located our pelvic floor? Where the hell is that? No idea. Have we delved into the plethora of supplements one in her late 30’s takes when she is trying for child? You know the ones that the New Mums rattle off deliriously. “Are you taking folic acid? Oh my God you have got to start that now! And what about The Blackmores Conceive Well formula? That is a must! Have you been tested if you are immune to small pox, chicken pox, measles, whooping cough, rubella, mumps and…?" What ever happened to the good old days when women would just fall pregnant, drink alcohol on only every second night and eat soft cheese whenever the craving hit? Now you have to make a bloody career out of it. Falling pregnant has become a full time job! And the trying…I could put a hefty deposit on a four bedroom house in Clovelly if I got a dollar for every time someone asked me if I was trying. It’s now totally acceptable whoever you are to ask whoever you want if they are having sex with their partner enough and at the appropriate time to warrant a pregnancy. Actually when it comes to the business of having a child nothing seems to be off limits with these crazy New Mums. Nothing! Well meaning New Mums… why do they go on and on? And as always it’s they who make this ordeal so frightening. If the prospect of hanging out in mother’s groups isn’t terrifying enough, it’s the thought that maybe I will upon birth of child become one of them. Note to all friends who have babies-love you! However, temporary insanity amongst you is rife. And part of my terror in having a child is not only pushing out something the size of watermelon out of something the size of a pea (oh who am I kidding!) but it’s the likelihood of also losing my marbles.

This reminds me when I used it work at the M.A.C counter. Excruciating at the best of times. It felt like these women left the house and headed to Myer with the direct intention of torturing some poor girl at a make-up counter. On several of these occasions when I would be helplessly trapped on the cosmetics floor, the air laden with 2000 different fragrances, wearing some garish MAC look I would normally never be caught dead in and being punished mercilessly by a 30 something year old neurotic who had spent half an hour of my life deciding between three shades of pinky, brown lipstick, she would, after asking me repeatedly which one was right for her, which pinky brown shade would make her look younger, fresher, less tired (being a new mum is very tiring..), crouch down to be at face height with child in stroller gurgling on a dummy and pointing to her mouth ask, “does this one look good on Mummy…?”

Will this be my fate?