Something strange has happened in the past two weeks: I have twice been offered a seat on a crowded commuter train, ostensibly because the person offering believes me to be pregnant. This morning an older lady leapt up when I walked onto the train and offered her seat to me. When I looked puzzled, she simply beamed and said “you’re carrying extra!” Luckily, my friend was on the train with me to help me to understand this strange occurrence; after looking perplexed for a couple of seconds, it suddenly dawned on me “ooooh she thinks I’m pregnant?!” My friend solemnly nodded. Right. OK. Cool.
A very awkward ten minutes ensued, while my friend and I discussed our activities from the preceding night, which involved me drinking a couple of glasses (a bottle) too many of wine, while worrying that the whole carriage thought I was a terrible fictional parent to be. That’s a lot to deal with on a Thursday morning with a hangover.
To say that this is frustrating is an understatement; I have lost almost two stone and now people think I’m pregnant! To be fair, when this happened last week, I was doing a morning meditation on the train with my eyes closed, and clutching my belly as instructed to measure my breaths. So yeah I probably did look pregnant. But that’s beside the point.
I’m sharing this experience because I’ve decided that instead of it meaning that I still look obese, despite my weight loss, my theory is that this is actually a good sign of my progress. No really, hear me out.
Before, when I was two stone up, I looked obese; there was additional fat distributed evenly over my body and face and therefore my tummy didn’t look incongruous. Now that I’ve lost a lot of weight and am more toned, the weight I’m carrying on my tummy (which has also reduced) looks less like it should be there, so hey presto! I look pregnant. Or maybe it’s because I’m glowing and radiant, who can say? Either way, it’s safe to say that I’m never wearing this dress again.
Anyway, this is a great illustration of how in order to succeed in a diet (or anything challenging in life really) you need a healthy sense of humour. So I’ve decided that my compensation for this embarrassment is to seize the opportunity to enjoy sitting on the train for the first time in three years, while all of the kind people who think that they are helping the gestation of our future generation can feel good about themselves. Everyone’s a winner.
FYI the baby in the photo is not mine either. But he is my nephew and he’s very cute, so you’re welcome.