Times up! (This is as good as it gets, my final postpartum post)

Just like that, May is upon us. Our suitcases are sprawled open across our house, begging to be stuffed like sausies. Our four passports are sitting in a neat pile on our bench, eagerly awaiting a good stamping. And our patience has well & truly expired. It feels as though the build up for this big day was far far faaaarrrr too fucking long, and come next Sunday, as we board that shitty, crammed, cheap ass Jet Star flight, I'll finally be able to breathe again. The even breath of an organised, level headed, bride to be. With two toddlers and 60 kilos of luggage. Ok maybe the calm breathing will come once our nanny arrives on our villa doorstep. 

And seeing as it's nearly D Day, it means the time is up to iron out those creases, tighten up those saddle bags, and morph into Miranda Kerr. 

Quite frankly, I can't wait to get away from the gym for a few weeks. As much as I love the place (mostly the crèche), going there 6 days a week has really started to do my head in. I see the same faces, I do the same workouts, I run on the same treadmill. And it is fantastic, it truly is, because it has paid off, but when I walk out of there next Saturday, I can safely say those 6 days a week will be swiftly replaced by 3 or 4 days upon return, and a truckload more walking & Vit D. Some serious snail trailing, taking in some sights, sniffing in the fresh air, and not calculating every kilometre will be invigorating & revitalising. Some real soul soothing shit.

Alas, zee bod has turned out to be in much better shape than I had envisioned;

The first thing that comes to mind upon viewing this pic is brilliant, brilliant lighting. Outstanding really. The second thing is, I actually freaking did it. I set myself a goal, a seemingly impossible goal what with my deep deep love for burgers, and chocolate, and beer- and after 14 long & extremely sweaty months, I actually freaking did it. It feels empowering, and a tad surreal. After viciously battling with my body (along with every other girl I've ever known) since I was 13 years young, loving it & hating it, thrashing it & neglecting it, poisoning it & starving it, I'm finally (FINNAAALLLLYY) confident within my own skin, Halle fucking lujah- if only being confident didn't require strenuous labour for 1.5 hours a day 6 days a week eh? 

Hopefully I can maintain this weight from here on out & feel healthy as an ox until I'm 45, whereupon Oli and I will take our belated OE and gorge on all of the delicacies of the world for months on end. He will get that gross pregnant mans body with stick figure legs, and I'll have those giant buffalo wings, flapping merrily along, smugly knowing I had my prime, and it is well and truly gone. 

Ahhhh, yes, that'll be magnificent.

Any who, must dash, I'm surviving off 4 hours sleep today & need to clock up at least a tenner tonight. Oli and I are getting legally hitched in the city tomorrow afternoon, and I need to be full of beans & champagne!

Bloody brilliant to briefly stop in by the way,

I'll be back,

Gem

Thought of the day "we have our flannelette sheets on our bed, my shockingly pink dressing gown out and about- freed from the realms of the wardrobe, and I just ate three steaming hot bowls of potato cauli curry. Oh winter..."