Archive for July, 2012

It’s been an age since I last posted-sorting out the house seems to be a never ending job and I keep finding more things to put/throw/freecycle away. Freecycle has been our best friend lately; it’s such a good way of getting rid of things that are too big to haul down to a charity shop or to post on eBay and also of feeling good that you’re helping someone else out. So far we’ve freecycled an old dishwasher, DH’s weights, a printer, a briefcase, all my maternity clothes, all my size 14+ clothes (sizes 10 and 12 went to friends), a sling, a box of hair dye (!) and various other bits and bobs. I do so love it, and I particularly love the whole ‘pay it forward’ concept as a few years ago DH’s Christmas present from me was a piano from Freecycle, which I’ve never quite believed was actually free, but was…sadly it had to stay in our old flat as we don’t have room in our new house. I’m a bit gutted as I really want DD growing up around music, but hopefully in the future we’ll get another one.

Anyway, that was all a bit off topic. What I intended to say is that after losing all that weight I was really irritated (OK, furious) that my boobs stayed pretty much the same size. My back size went down but my cup size didn’t, and I was still in 30GG bras, which are hard to find. (Bless Bravissimo.) However, in some weird miracle, in the weeks since I’ve been maintaining rather than losing, they have suddenly shrunk! I went through my underwear drawer today and discovered that out of 8 bras only 2 fit, and those not perfectly as they’re a 32 back. I reckon I am now a…drumroll…30F! Which, for those of you still wearing the wrong size bra, is a 34DD, and therefore in my head a normal size. They’re still big, but not freakishly so, and I am delighted.

For people who’ve always had normal size boobs (for which read anything from an AA to a DD cup, as decreed by the bastards who design M&S lingerie who also, incidentally, start at a 32 back because as well as being bastards they are morons) this must seem a bit ridiculous. After all, boobs are boobs, and as long as they’re doing the job of holding up your t-shirt/feeding your baby/giving your partner something to look at, who really cares what size they are? It’s something that I think only those who have been ‘blessed’ with giant ones can really understand. You can be a perfectly normal size 12 everywhere else but have to buy size 16 shirts in order to not have them gape. You can look entirely average and yet have crippling back ache all day long because of the weight of them. You can wake up one day, aged 21, and realise that you have permanent wrinkles on your chest in a V shape because the skin is squashed every time you sleep on your side. You can wake up a few years after that and realise that it really hurts to stand with your shoulders back because you’ve spent every day since puberty with slightly hunched shoulders. And that’s not even considering the idiocy of the people who think it’s ok to comment, stare or, worst of all, grab, just because you fit some absurd idea of beauty as perpetuated by page 3 and pervs everywhere, that, ironically, is totally counter to another idea of beauty sold by the fashion industry that decrees you’re better off having no boobs at all in order to fit the androgynous/teenage/anorexic/heroin chic/whatever they like to call it at the moment ‘look’ that works best on the catwalk when your models are 14 years old and living on cocaine and cigarettes.

And breathe.

So needless to say, I am beyond delighted to be out of the GGs, Gs and FFs I have been miserably hoiking myself around in for the past 10 years, and looking forward to buying some bras that don’t have three sets of hooks and eyes, industrial width straps or beige granny lace. (To be fair, there are companies I’ve mentioned before that do bloody well designing for big boobs, Fantasie and Fauve being my favourites, but they are in the minority.) In fact, DD and I are going shopping this afternoon. I’m getting some bras and she’s getting some nappies. Rock and roll.


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The BBC have got a really cool program up on their website at the moment that tells you how healthy you are compared to people from other countries, using BMI as the measurement. Of course BMI has its failings, the fact that it doesn’t take into account muscle mass for one, but it’s a fun little exercise.

Back in November last year when I was 13st 10lbs I apparently had more body fat than 97% of females aged 15-29 in this country and than 99% of the same category of women worldwide. Now that I’m 9st (yes, finally I am managing to maintain-at a whopping 50PP daily!) I have less body fat than 83% of young women in the UK and than 58% of those women worldwide. I suppose the only thing I’m surprised by is that the first figure is quite so high-to be fatter than 97% of women aged 15-29 in the UK is quite an achievement given that we’re in the middle of an obesity epidemic in the west! I did a bit of playing around with numbers and found that if I cheated and told the calculator I’m 30 (which, sob, I nearly am) the outcome changed quite significantly-I became fatter than 85% of women aged 30-44 in this country. All this makes my head spin a bit (no, I can’t believe I did Maths A-level either) but I think that suggests that women in the UK aged 30-44 are significantly fatter than those aged 15-29. I see this as quite encouraging really, as maybe it means there’s hope for the younger generation yet? Presumably the teenagers tilt the scale enough and are still healthy enough to outweigh (underweigh?!) those approaching their 30s.

Anyway, it’s fun to play around with. Where do you fit in?

BBC fat calculator

Incidentally, you can also change the country you’re from. If I were American I’d now be slimmer than 87% of my peers, rather than 83% in the UK. Given the reputation America has nowadays of being a land of fatties, I think the terrifying thing there is that the figures are so close. We cannot lazily point at the USA and say ‘at least we’re not as fat as them’ because we VERY nearly are. And we don’t have their portion sizes to contend with, so we’re doing that all on our own-not something to be proud of as a nation.

At the other end of the scale, in order to make myself slimmer than 100% of women aged 15-29 worldwide, I had to make my weight 4st 6lbs. That is a tragedy I can’t even contemplate at this time in the morning. That there are women out there ‘surviving’ at that weight makes me want to cry.

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Yesterday somebody said to me ‘You’ve lost so much weight since I last saw you, you need to gain some weight now!’

I said, ‘I don’t think so,’ and left the room so as to bite my tongue.

I thought, ‘fuck off you jealous, interfering bitch. I am healthy, where before I was unhealthy. I am slim, where before I was obese. I am fit, where before I couldn’t run for a bus. I look good, where before I was miserable about my weight.’

I wish I’d said it out loud.

(Oh, and she’s overweight.)

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