Fit as fuck

I knew there was a reason I was marrying him.

I’ve spent the last few months deliberating losing weight for the wedding. Trying & failing and maintaining.

Yes I would like to be slimmer, but I also like eating carbs and having a sausage sarnie every Friday followed by biccies with a cuppa in the office.

I like walking but I also like getting where I need to go quickly and so I often take the car.

I hate the gym and love chips, but last time I checked that wasn’t a crime.

I’m not going to give you some BoPo spiel because I’d be lying if I said I loved my body in all its saggy glory, BUT the man I’m marrying does and that thought makes me smile on yet another day full of hormones and rain.

And whilst I’m a long way from ‘if you’ve got it flaunt it’ I’m certainly done with hiding it. This is me. I’m over weight. I have boobs that outweigh your hand luggage allowance on a Ryanair flight and they’re not perky.

I have cellulite and stretch marks that really don’t resemble tiger stripes. Before I sent Shaun this picture this morning, Ciara turned to me and said ‘You look beautiful Mummy’ had that been a compliment from Shaun I would of probably told him to shut up, but who am I to tell my three year old her Mummy isn’t beautiful? Who am I to argue with her idea of beauty? The two most important people in my life think I’m beautiful and if that’s not enough to help me on my way to believing it, nothing will be.

They don’t love me DESPITE my rolls, they love me WITH them.

I will always get behind encouraging health, but I will also get behind the reality that life is short! So, eat the cake. Drink the drink. Make love on Sundays and never go to bed on a row.

And if your child tells you you’re beautiful, don’t you DARE disagree.

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