Oliver was born almost one year ago. It's taken me almost all that time to shrink most of the way back to my old size. And all of that good work is about to be undone by Christmas.
Because every year around this time I abandon any semblance of good eating habits. The holiday becomes one giant unapologizing excuse to consume almost every high-calorie, sugary, fattening treat that crosses my path.
This past weekend was the start of it. There were multiple-course dinners. Appetizers of cheese and olives, cheese and broth fondues, seafood, roasts, desserts, cookies and wine.
Cheese will seriously be the death of me. I will one day be found floating face down in a giant fondue pot.
I suppose if you're not a food lover you might be able to resist some, if not all the holiday treats. Me? Not even a little bit. I love food and this is one time that I give in to the many temptations and indulge to my heart's delight.
Unfortunately the indulging is just a precursor to the extra pounds that will taunt me in January. And the cookie-induced poundage is not helped by the fact that two weeks ago, in some kind of crazed state of madness I purchased a pair of jeans that were slightly too small.
What the hell? I know. It's a heinous fashion crime, on a par with white socks and sandals. Jeans that don't quite fit are bad bad bad. But they were the old, old size! The size before all babies. And as I pulled on the jeans over my legs and bum and fastened the zipper, I almost shrieked with joy in the fitting room. In fact I think I may have shrieked a bit.
The problem is not the legs and bum - it's the tummy. The post-baby tummy. The stubborn, wobbly bastard area of skin that's laughing at me when I pull on my jeans. Everything else is shrinking back into place. But the stomach? Forget it. It shakes a little when it laughs at me like a bowl full of jelly.
So now, really, there's only two ways to combat the jelly belly: Hundreds of crunches every day. Or Spanx.
The crunches will have to wait until the new year when I'm full of good intentions. Right now 'tis the season for brie and Stilton and chocolate-covered blueberries and port, and nylon body compressors.