Operation Bridesmaid

In precisely 47 weeks and one day my sister will be traipsing down the aisle to marry the man she loves. I am very worried.

You see I'm going to be a bridesmaid- a chief one if you must know- and unless I take some drastic action in the very near future it's just not going to be pretty.
For the last two and half years- indeed since my son made his grand appearance into this world- I have been vowing to lose some weight and gain some self esteem.
To be fair to me I have lost about three stone- sadly it has been in half stone bursts and I've managed to put the same half stone back on between each attempt.
I've tried Rosemary Conley, Weight Watchers, Paul McKenna, going it alone and a half hearted attempt at Slimming World.
I improved my fitness levels so that I could swim 50 lengths without getting dramatically out of breath but then the winter hit and I'm afraid climbing into the paddling pool leaves me out of puff these days.
And of course in this time I've also managed to pass my driving test and much as that has changed my life in 101 positive ways it certainly has done nothing to improve the girth of my rear end or my cardiovascular fitness. (I'm not quite as bad as my husband who has been known to drive to the corner shop- but I'm not far off).
So I'm faced with a dilemma. I want and need to slim down and get fit but no matter how hard and fast I have looked for my willpower I have been unable to find the blighter. (Admittedly if I looked in the right places and not in the vending machine at work or through the pizza takeaway menu I might get a bit further with things).
On Saturday I accompanied my sister (aka Bridezilla) to Direct Dresses in Springtown to have a lookie at bridesmaid dresses for myself and my two fellow maids. Somehow it all seems to have become a lot more complicated in the years between my own wedding and Bridezilla's forthcoming nuptials.
First we had to design on straps (wide, spaghetti or not at all) length (long, ballet or Tea- which was new to me) and material (Satin, silk or taffeta). Once that was sorted and we spotted a dress (strapless, satin and tea-length so you know) that we liked, the assistant muttered the dreaded words "Would you like to try it on?".

Size matters
I knew from looking at it that it wasn't in my size. When she handed it to me and I straddled my wide hips into the skirt I knew for definite it wasn't my size and it was only made worse as I struggled (in vain) to try and zip it up at the back.
My sister, God love her, did her best not to look overly alarmed but I can assure you that the sight of me in a dress three sizes too small with legs that had not seen a razor in a week and back fat spilling between the seems is not for the faint hearted. No amount of breathing in was going to make this a pretty sight- it would take liposuction and a bout of gastric banding.
That said, I knew the dress could look stunning in the proper size but I made a resolution that I don't want my current size to be that right size.
So I'm joining the hordes of women who each day/ week/ year/ month decide they are going to do something about their appearance in advance of a big occasion.
The only problem is, I'm not quite sure what that something is going to be. I don't do so well at calorie counting and my current work pattern means it is difficult to fit in exercise or indeed keep to a healthy eating regime. When I get through the door at 7pm, and once I've deposited the wee man in his bed and cleaned up Thomas, Percy and James from the floor the last thing I crave is salad and grilled chicken.
The strange thing I know I feel better when I do eat salad and grilled chicken. I have more energy, feel less bloated and my skin takes on the glowing hue of a baby's bottom and yet I still can't seem to get that message into my thick head in anything other than three week bursts.
I know I don't want to look like a green Mr. Blobby in my sister's wedding photographs. I want to be able to walk down the aisle with my son (who will be page boy) by my side and not trailing three foot behind me because my rump takes up too much space.
But I'm open to suggestions. I'm willing to try almost anything- from Weight Watchers (again) to dysentery, I'm not fussy. All I know is that I have reached the point of no return.
So if you see me heading for the sweetie machine, or giving into temptation in Thorntons- then I'm pleading with you to hit me a quick skite across the head and remind me that in 47 weeks and one day I'll be a bridesmaid for the first time ever- and it would be nice if I managed to fit into one dress and not two sewn together.

On a lighter note, (no pun intended) I'm off on my holidays for two weeks so this column will be taking a short break.