From muffin-topped, puffy faced alcohol addict to Goddess!

Day 9 today, and I am fully anticipating that this sober life is going to lead to a total transformation looks wise. After all, if I estimate that I was drinking, on average, a bottle of wine per day (just one? who am I kidding!?!?), then quitting the vino should reduce my calorie intake by a massive 600 calories per day. That's 4,200 calories per week. Cutting out 4,200 calories is like NOT EATING AT ALL for two days of the week. Hell, I'll look like Kate Moss in no time (or Cindy Crawford for my American friends ;-)). As well as cutting out the booze calories I'll also be cutting out the hangover fuelled carb-fests. And who has any willpower when facing a pudding menu after drinking a bottle of wine? Not me, certainly.

I have to confess, that so far there's not much sign of the weight falling off, but I reckon it's like turning round a super-tanker (which is, actually, how my children describe my arse), so it's going to take a while to get going.

So, in the interests of making this as scientific as possible, I'm going to give you my vital stats as a 'baseline'. Apologies for not posting a photograph - to start with I'm not ready to 'come out' yet to the Yummy Mummy community and my stiff upper lipped family, plus I've avoided being caught in any photos for years.

Here you go: Height - 5 foot 7 inches. Weight 11 stone 10 (164 pounds), BMI 25.6 - that's at the bottom end of the 'overweight' category, just above 'normal'. Dress size UK 12/14 or US 8/10.

Doesn't look too horrendous, does it? But that's because you can't see the wine belly. I have been accused of being pregnant many times over the years, especially by children (whose mothers are squirming with embarrassment). I haven't had the dire 'when's it due?' question for a while, not because the wine belly's gone, but because at 46 I'm starting to look too old for it to be probable. So now I'm fat and old with only the menopause to look forward to. Oh joy. So the wine belly HAS TO GO! Right now, if I lie in the bath and scrunch up all my belly fat with both hands (nice image there, huh? I hope you're not eating your breakfast!) it's about the size of a bottle of wine.

Having just stripped off in the kitchen and played around with pieces of sting and a metal tape measure I confess that the stomach/butt stats are as follows: waist 36 inches, belly 41 inches (!), hips 43 inches. This is why the children's favourite song to play in the car on the school run has a chorus "Watchya gonna do with that big fat butt? Viggle, viggle, viggle." This leads to hysterical laughter from everyone except me. Kids, why do we have 'em? To put this in perspective, in my early twenties my vital statistics were 36, 26, 36. Sob.

Things, as they say, can only get better! I'll check the stats again in a month and let you know how close to Cindy Crawford we're getting.

Love SM x

Related Post: Turning into a Goddess - Update