…and about 100 back.
I’d love to say that in the 6months since my last (and first) post, “The Time Has Come…,” that I have been transformed, Cinderella-esque – or to be frank, Ugly Duckling-esque – into a beautiful, tranquil mum living in a home that could pass for a show home (Cinderella’s castle is still a bit beyond me). Sadly, I have to report that that is not the case. Just in case you thought I might have succeeded. Just in case you thought you’d seen a flying pig past your window this morning.
The straw that broke the camel’s back and brought me back to this blog was a bus journey I made on Thursday night. My sister had just given birth 450 miles away and to get down there I decided to try the Megabus sleeper bus. This is a fantastic service and one I know I’ll try again. It’s the perfect bus journey because for not very much money I travelled all the way to London in a bed. On a bus!
The bus was not the straw though. The straw came when it was time to go to this wonderful (if slightly claustraphobic) bed, when not only did I have to perform advanced yoga to get myself into the bed, I had to remove my boots and socks to do so. This shouldn’t be a problem for most people, but for me it was very embarrassing.
“WHY?!” I hear you ask. It was embarrassing because I have substantial regrowth on my legs because I’ve been lazy (aka slummy mummy) and not bothered to shave my legs for a little bit. And because it gets worse – the last time I shaved my legs I didn’t have time to do it properly so, rather than expose my hairy ankles at the party I was off to that night, I’d shaved up to my mid calf.
So now I was clambering out of my boots, pouring myself into my bed and exposing that not only had I not shaved my legs in a while, but that I actually had two levels of regrowth. Given how positive about change I felt in July, what had gone so horribly wrong?
I started with the best of intentions. Ok, I didn’t have smooth legs before bed time, nor had I plucked my eyebrows or sorted out my daughter’s bedroom/junk-hiding-place. In fact, the closest I’d come to doing something about my transformation was telling the world I wanted to. However, I was keen to succeed so by the weekend I did look vaguely presentable. How did I achieve this?
- I dug out my old epilator. OUCH! I spent the Friday cursing whichever ancestor gave me the dark hair gene. I wept about the cruel twist of fate that made me a more hirsute lady. I gasped in agony as I made the first swipe across my legs. In fairness, it did make my legs appear nice and smooth for a few days, and the even bigger shock is that I maintained it for about a month, but eventually the pain got too much and I couldn’t bring myself to do it again. Rather than admit defeat to my astonished husband, I hid my epilator. Really well, as it turns out, because now I can’t find it to try again.
- I plucked my eyebrows, moustache and chin. Yes, I’m really painting an attractive picture here. I think I get it from my gran. We were laughing the other day about her getting an upgraded electric razor for her chin. Outwardly I laughed, that is. Inside I just wondered how long it would be till I had to resort to these measures to pass as acceptable, and would my 82 year old gran have any advice about the best model to buy.
- I wore a dress! In fact, I wore a dress, makeup, jewellery and nice shoes! This really was a momentous occasion and one which is etched on my mind. We took the children to Culzean Castle for the day and I really made the effort to look my best. I was really pleased with myself and surprised at how much I enjoyed it – until we used a “short cut” to the playground and then I wasn’t so pleased I’d worn heels.
Since that day, there has been an almost constant decline.
I did get all glammed up for an article in the Daily Record about a charity ball I was organising – though the “glamming” was done for me by the staff of Taylor Ferguson (total geniuses in that hair dresser!), and I managed to lose the final 21lb for the actual ball in October at which, along with many of the other guests, I rewore my wedding dress to raise funds for Malcolm Sargent House in Prestwick. It was a fabulous night – fabulous, though surreal seeing so many wedding dresses in one place. I even managed to clear out the attic, sort out old clothes for charity and finally create for my daughter a room of her own. For a while, the whole house was tidy – yes, a small miracle.
But now as I look around me, as I think back to my bus journey this weekend, I realise that things have to change. Whilst I act as though this slummy mummy routine is all fine, I know that inside I’m not happy with it. I’m not happy for my daughter to grow up and think that this is how women treat themselves, and I’m not happy that I don’t care enough to look after myself more.
So I’m back to the baby steps. I’ve found a blog hop (whatever that is!)) that sounds right up my street – How To Be A Groovy Mum so I’m going to try to use this as my incentive to keep myself going this time. So, what should be my challenge this week? I’d love to say that I’m going to defuzz for good, or even try to wear make up at least once but I know I’ll be setting myself up for a fall, so instead I think I’ll start even further back and I’ll gut the house again.
I may even take those bags of clothes I sorted months ago to the charity shop.
Wish me luck!
If you want to be clear on what Groovy Mums is and how YOU can get involved read this http://kateonthinice.wordpress.com/how-to-be-a-groovy-mum/