It's strange how quickly your world becomes completely localised. Whereas pre - Nancy I wouldn't think twice about hopping on a train to London, now I'm giving myself a big pat on the back for making it down to the beach for the first time in 6 months. Actually I had her in the sling and hadn't adjusted the straps since Ben, who's a foot taller, had used it so I can't practically give myself a pat on the back as I can't properly turn around now. That combined with the new and inventive methods I've had to find to feed her since she doesn't seem to want to do it the conventional way anymore, which include Nancy lying on the floor and me on all fours kind of menacingly hovering over her, and her on my lap while I hunch over her, have resulted in me losing about 3 inches in height.
Your world does get very small and the number of people you see in the day increasingly fewer than before there was a little person. The man who thinks Nancy's a fine sized boy at the shop at the top of the hill, or the man who thinks I go clubbing at the shop at the bottom may sometimes be the only person I see other than Nancy until Ben gets home, and where the man at the top of the hill is more often than not making international calls on his Madonna headset so will just give me a nod, he obviously doesn't realise that I don't actually need more tea bags as Ben's bought a life times supply at the cash and carry next to his work, I just needed an excuse to get out the house without being marooned in town.
But the localised thing isn't just how far you end up practically walking, it's the things you start focussing on during the day. So for example, one of the next door neighbours has left an old fridge outside our house. It had been there for about two days before I got really mardy about it. If I wasn't spending so much time at home I'd probably just notice it then ignore it. But because I've passed it about 20 times and banged into it once with the buggy, it'd now become one of the main focuses of my day.
It was day three when I stuck a note to it asking if the owner would move it. To which someone wrote back on the same note that it would be moved by the dustmen. Which it wasn't. Day five I wrote another note and stuck it to it telling them that the bin men won't move it and so could they do something about it, suggesting they contact the council or take it to the landfill. To which they again wrote back (this time in captitals to express how cross they were with my meddling) that it was full of rotten food, like that's the reason to leave it there. I've now written note three, which I'm not sure whether to stick on the fridge in case I'm starting some kind of war you see on Channel 5 documentaries where the only logical conclusion is we end up posting poo through each others letter box, stating that I will call the council if it's not moved which a) I'm not going to do and b) I have no idea who put it there in the first place.
So I've now taken to staring out of the window for long periods of time while bouncing Nancy on my hip which must be totally boring for her, waiting for the culprit to write another message back so I can catch him/ her in the act, then run out and bollock them. Everyone's a suspect, including the lovely lady who lives upstairs.
The other big thing is I've started running. Well I've been once. And it wasn't so much a run as what dad would call a jogette. I was inspired partly because Nancy was weighed on Thursday and she's now 16 pounds 6 which is nearly the exact amount I need to lose to get back to my 'fighting weight'. I was carrying her in the sling at the time and it was weird to have an actual physical representation of how heavy I am. My arms feel like they're going to fall off if I hold her for more than 10 minutes and I'm carrying that much extra round on my bum everyday. So there was that. And also the fact my hairs started to fall out. I knew that it does happen sometimes to breast feeding mums but smugly thought, not me. Until it started coming out in handfuls in the shower. Nancy is rubbing her hair out at night by tossing and turning in her sleep. We can't both be going bald. So with that in mind I decided to start exercising as the thought of going into my mid thirties as Nancy's fat, balding mum was a bit too much to bear.
Turned out I've thrown away all my gym clothes as part of the make way for Nancy clear out (I have kept hold of a luminous pink crop top though which I imagine will be much more useful in the future.) So I squeezed myself into my old sports bra which pushed my boobs up to just under my chin, fished out a pair of pyjamas that least look like I sleep in them, set the iPod going on shuffle which ironically selected MJ's Speed Demon and I was off.
The boys were setting up the pitch in the park for Saturday league football, which is probably the best motivator, as if I stopped I was just a red faced, sweating woman hanging out in the park in her pyjamas. I only went through the park and round the block, but this could be the start of something big. I'm planning to go every morning before Ben leaves for work. And then maybe do a half marathon, who knows, even build up to a full marathon? But I guess the first thing is to get to the end of our road without walking. And now I can justifiably have a good old neb on eBay to get a fab new running outfit. Now that is a result.
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