When my shirt became a monster, I knew it was time to lose weight

I love John Deer clothing. They have the cutest ladies tops and tanks, and it just makes me think that maybe I was a farmer in my past life. 

I love the idea of country life with good food and lots of shaded trees, so I leave the husband to pay for the top (together with other around the house “fix it now” goods) while I pop into the vintage gift store at Farm City. 

When we get to the car, the husband casually mentions that the teller lady politely asked if the purple John Deer top was for me. When he replied yes, she told him that it would be best if I took an XL!

Now look, I have never battled with my weight. I have always been active in some form or another, but after three kids and more entertaining than jogging, it’s taken its toll. I weighed 72kgs (a figure that has always haunted me) when I gave birth to my first son.

I am now a whopping, wait for it, 74.9kg, and this without a little person in my belly! This brings my BMI up to 27.22. The normal range is between 18.5 and 25. 

That, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, oupas, oumas, the dog and the rooster, officially classifies me as overweight at the age of 29! 

I have always been able to eat what I want and not pick up the weight, but somehow I have lost this magic trick and kind of feel like the (fat) magician who fails at pulling the rabbit out of the hat.

While I take in the absolute horror of the teller’s (Farm City’s very own Rachel Zoe) comment, I lift the shirt out of the blue packet to examine the size, knowing very well that a large is going to be just fine. 

I had noticed that it was a small cut of course, but I know that the large will be sufficient in covering the baby boep which I cannot get rid of. 

Back in the car, the first born, who has unknowingly added to the problem, casually asks if the purple shirt is for his sister, my last born, aged one year and three months. 

“No,”  I smile, “Just because its purple, honey, doesn’t mean it’s for her. This one is for mommy.”

“Oh” he says as he moves his bum towards the back of the car before mom turns into a screaming lunatic about car safety and seatbelts, and then he casually adds, “it's too small”. 

“Ppppffffttt,” I snort, “No its not!” 

Once we get home, I put the shirt in the cupboard and forget about it. Later, the husband says we should put on our dancing shoes for a (long overdue) night out on the town. I start to get ready and decide the purple monster, with its three-quarter sleeves, would be perfect for the cool, rainy weather. 

“You ready?” the husband asks as he dodges the imaginary shoe I throw at him. As I stare in the mirror, ignoring the rushing from behind, I realise that I was, indeed, somehow related to farming in my previous life.  I was the pig. 

I present to you the purple stuffed pork sausage ala carte!

It’s tight. So tight, that if it wasn’t for the love handles and rolls sticking out all over the place, it might have looked like I had a tummy tuck and an arm nip and a breast reduction. Seriously, it took me about five minutes to get it off! 

That night, I drank a lot! 

So, after this ordeal, I am completely motivated to fit into the purple monster comfortably without having to use a coat hanger and goodness knows what else to fit into or get out of it. Bloody hell, who knew farmers were so skinny! 

My goal: to lose 16.9kg (and fit into the purple monster, of course). My motivation: a photo of me in a bikini – right there up in your face! 

Welcome to my journey.

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