Why my kids pretended not to know me
I was so big, my kids were ashamed of me
Scoffing chocolate felt like a comfort blanket
Pushing my youngest, Lukas, 1, in his pushchair, I stopped to wipe sweat from my forehead.
‘We’re going to be late, Mum,’ groaned my other son, Joshua, 7.
He was right.
But, out of breath, with pains shooting down my leg, I couldn’t go any faster.
‘Sorry,’ I sighed, desperately trying to quicken my pace.
It was like this every morning on the school run.
While my eldest three made their own way to school or college, I’d take Charley, 10, Joshua, 7, and Jacob, 6, to school with Lukas in the pram.
It should’ve been a 10-minute walk, but it took me half an hour.
‘Mum, you’re too fat,’ Jacob giggled as I thudded along the pavement.
‘Don’t be rude,’ I scolded. Although I couldn’t blame him.
He was right, after all.
It was April 2016 and I weighed 20st 10lb, and was a dress-size 26.
My doctor had warned me that I had a BMI of 50.
The healthy range was 19 to 25.
‘Your body is under a lot of strain,’ he’d said.
‘OK,’ I’d nodded, taking some leaflets about healthy eating, knowing they’d never get read.
Only now, arriving at the school gates, I was dripping in sweat.
By the time I’d walked back home, huffing and puffing,
I was exhausted and wincing in pain. Slumping on the sofa, I cringed as I got my breath, and rubbed my aching back.
I must look a right state, I thought, recalling the kids’ embarrassed faces as I plodded beside them.
I knew that they were ashamed of me.
The eldest ones sometimes pretended they hadn’t seen me when I bumped into them in town with their mates.
It hurt, but I understood. Who wants a fat mum?
I knew their friends sometimes teased them.
I’d never been slim – but in the last few years, I’d really ballooned. In December 2014, I’d lost my son Jaiden at 36 weeks pregnant after suffering a uterine rupture. Devastated, food was my coping strategy. Scoffing down family-sized bags of chocolate when the kids were in bed felt like wrapping a comfort blanket around me. The layers of fat doubled, then tripled, until I couldn’t see my feet. Now, as usual, I reached for the one thing that made everything better. Chocolate.
I’d skipped breakfast – with seven kids, there was never time.
But I’d make up for it now. Thankfully, my husband, 44, did the afternoon school run before his chef job.
So I had all day to sit around and scoff treats while Lukas played. Later, dinner with such a big family was chaotic.
I’d cook the kids’ pasta, sort out lunches for the mornings, get them bathed and into bed.
Then, I’d settle in front of the TV with a takeaway.
Only, that night I woke in the early hours gasping for breath.
‘Help!’ I wheezed, going bright red in the face.
‘It’s OK,’ my hubby soothed.
‘I can’t breath,’ I panicked.
The rolls of fat around my neck had been weighing down on me, crushing my chest.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ I said once I’d caught my breath.
That night, too scared to fall back to sleep, I decided it was time to change…
The next day, I found myself sitting with my doctor – in tears.
‘I’m worried I’m going to suffocate to death,’ I wept.
I was expecting him to reassure me, tell me I was fine. But he didn’t.
‘You’re very overweight,’ he frowned.
I’d heard it before.
From him, from my kids.
Only now, I was really listening.
He signed me up to the National Slimming Clinic, where I’d be given diet-and-exercise advice and seen weekly by my doctor. At first, I felt cynical.
I’d tried so many weight-loss programmes before.
Only, this time,
I was ready to change. At my first appointment, my blood pressure was checked. ‘It’s high,’ the nurse said, but reassured me I could get it down. She wrote me a list of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ foods, told me to drink more water.
‘I’d give anything for a bar of chocolate,’ I groaned that night.
‘No,’ said hubby, cuddling me.
Worried, he just wanted a healthy wife.
The next morning, I made poached eggs for breakfast, tucked into a chicken salad at lunch.
The nurse had shown me how to weigh food to make sure I was eating the right portions.
The handfuls of veg, pasta and rice seemed tiny at first. But I soon got used to having less food on my plate.
Stepping on the scales a week later, I almost screamed. ‘I’ve lost 11lb!’ I cried. ‘You’re doing brilliantly,’ beamed the nurse.
After that, I felt motivated to make more changes.
Every evening, I’d walk around the block a few times.
‘We’re early today,’ grinned Joshua as we made it to the school gates in 20 minutes.
As the months went on, the weight dropped off.
Three months later, I was 18st. My old, baggy jumpers and elasticated-waist trousers went to the charity shop.
Instead, I bought size-20 dresses and fitted trousers.
But it wasn’t long before they were too big, too.
By February 2018, my size-14 jeans were hanging off me.
‘You’re well under 11st,’ the nurse smiled.
I weighed 10st 5lb and was a dresssize 10/12.
I couldn’t believe it.
Gone was that heavy mum my kids were ashamed of.
I bought bright croptops and size-10 jeans.
Things I’d never dared wear before.
And I did the school run with my head held high!
‘Oh, I love your top,’ another mum smiled one morning.
‘Thanks,’
I beamed.
Finally, I was the trendy mum I’d always wanted to be and it felt amazing.
My kids were all so proud, and said they didn’t recognise me!
Now, I have monthly checkups and I’ve lost another 4lb.
I don’t miss chocolate, as I love the new me.
I’ve even started dance classes.
I spend my days running around and playing with my kids.
Being the mum they deserve.
I worried that I was going to suffocate to death