I was on my first walk with the pram joyously uncovered by plastic today, when I passed the beautician, stopped, reversed and made an appointment for a Saturday morning pedicure.
I can’t remember the last time I did something so impulsive for myself – I’ve been my own lowest priority for a year now. That sounds pathetic – I don’t mean it like that – I just wondered why I was so excited about booking a pedi, and that’s what occurred to me. I’ve realised that 2011 really was the year when my body and I took a break from each other.
January to March were the last – and most uncomfortable- months of my pregnancy. I just rotated the same seven outfits and accepted I couldn’t rush around as usual. The wee man’s appearance on March 28 was actually a wonderful experience and gave me real respect for my body, but for the next five months I was breast feeding – and all the kerfuffle that entails.
I suppose it wasn’t until January 3rd, the day of the Great Wardrobe Clearout, that I realised my body and I were reunited. The defining moment was slipping into my pre-pregnancy skinny jeans. I say slipping because the zipper actually fastened easier than it had in June 2010. I’m not ashamed to tell you I jumped on the bed then bounced down the stairs to squeak at Rod that I was back! I have managed to hold off the Christmas/New Year poundage and I can begin the new year with the beautiful cliché of a new me.