Friday, 15 August 2014

Look You Guys, I Don't Mean To Brag Or Anything But Going Back To The Gym Has REALLY Paid Off.

Sweat droplet by sweat droplet, I have worked my way back down to a body shape I am happy with.

My abs? Rocking. I asked Dave to take a photo of them yesterday and he's all, "You sure hon?" And I was all, "Why WOULDN'T I be sure?"

It's taken me 42 years but I finally, FINALLY have a six-pack.

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I don't think you're ready for this jelly and don't be jelly haters it has taken A LOT OF GRIEF CAKE to get my tummy to push through the bars like that.

Yes, I have gone back to the gym and it does indeed make me feel stronger, mentally more than anything. But I don't go every day. I should be there right now but the fire was too warm this morning so I promise to myself to go for a run but I won't. Then I'll look at the clock and think ok, I'll go for a walk before I pick the boys up. But I won't.

Somedays I get to the gym, other days I don't. I have lost a lot of my weight but this stubborn bit is hard to lose and two babies came out of that stubborn bit so that's pretty cool. I finally managed to squeeze my arse into some new jeans, and with a flowy top I look ok and fuck man, that's more than alright for me.

I had a boyfriend once (actually I had many but this guy was a real charmer) who looked at my legs and actually winced. "Oh, you've got a lot of moles." For years afterwards I hated and hid the moles on my legs but now I show them off in summer along with my varicose veins, crinkly hands, toe hair made of steel. You know what's happened in the last ten months? (Ten months today since my brother died SAD CONFETTI) .... my hair has fallen out. Like, really, really badly. Dave had to unclog the shower drain. Clumps all over the floor, throughout the house. It's from stress and probably shock. One day I bent to pick something up (PROBABLY MY HAIR) and Rocco peered close to my head and said, "MUM you are BALD."

I contemplated getting it all cut off short but I just can't. Right now I still have the same hair that Cam looked at last year and I can't part with it just yet. And, you guys, it's starting to grow back! Baby fuzz on the sides. So relieving. Maybe healing.

I am who I am, motherfucker. Ain't no motherfucker tell me otherwise. Isn't it supposed to be a privilege - to age, to live, and be healthy?

The look on my face on the photo above is the look on the face of a woman who has pressed her bare skin against a cold steel fence in the middle of a Katoomba winter. Dave's snapping away (I LOVE HIM) and suddenly one of his workers - Reece - drives up, right to where his bosses wife is standing there in her bra. Dave yells PUT YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES BACK ON HON and I laughed and laughed and so did he.


And I couldn't look Reece in the eye properly afterwards, mumbled something about doing something stupid for my blog, he was just laughing too.

(I guess it's more of a seventeen-pack, if you count all of the individual flesh pouches poking through.)

Anyway Dave can't hassle me about nudity, he gets in the nuddy every chance he gets. Especially at the beach house where he always washes himself off like a dog in the backyard like that scene with Hugh Jackman in the film Australia.


So many unanswerable questions and awful happenings around the world. Some answers include but are not limited to:

Laughter.
Love.
Cake for no reason.
Crying for lots of reasons.
Let your kids have ice-cream for brekkie who cares.
HAIR!
Being comfortable being in the nuddy, your body does a lot for you the least you can do is accept it.
Laughter.
Love.
Be sad.
Keep going and if you can't, just sit down for a minute have a little rest distract yourself and don't listen to your head.
But mostly love. Big stupid fucking love.

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