Birthday Bitch…

September is a bumper birthday month around here. My own slips in right at the end, so I am now 44yrs old. How did that happen?

Anyway, I think I’m doing ok for an old bird. On Sunday we had a big lunch with cake, presents and the whole shebang. Obviously I had to smash it with my outfit and I did! Perhaps you’re not supposed to blow your on trumpet, I do not care. I looked gooooood. You’d never guess I’m middle aged.

I’m feeling pretty strange about this whole mid 40’s thing. I don’t know how I got here so fast. I need someone to catch up the ly in my head. She still feels like her twenties were five minutes ago. Except they also feel a lifetime ago too. It’s very confusing in here. Reckoning with mortality and all the things that are behind me is tough. It’s just as well I’m such a hottie; takes the sting out of it.

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Walking on sunshine…

It finally happened, the sun has arrived. We had two whole proper hot sunny days. It did rain yesterday, but that’s Glasgow for you. Anyway, my point is, summer is coming.

With it will come a deluge of diet talk, body shaming and unsolicited opinions. That means it’s time for my annual reminder; we all have a summer body. Everyone deserves to feel the sun on their skin and enjoy the summer. There will be many external voices proclaiming the need to change or hide your body. I implore you to ignore them.

I know it can feel scary to let the world see something you have been taught to believe is bad. I also know that when you release yourself from the fear of judgement it feels goooood. Nothing terrible happens if you go to the park in a sundress with your bingo wings flying free. The truth is most people aren’t paying you that much attention. We’re all busy living our lives. We’re chatting or day dreaming or stressing or thinking about what we need from Tesco. No one is focused on your body or outfit even a fraction as much as you are.

The fuckwits who will stare or comment on a photo are in the minority. Those are not your people. Those are mean, small minded probably deeply insecure folk. Do not give them power over you or your choices. Especially when there is so much at stake.

It’s hard for me to articulate just how much happier I am since embraced the body I’m in. The freedom not just to wear whatever I feel good in, but also to enjoy what I do in those clothes has touched every aspect of my life. There were so many things that I just wouldn’t do. Activities that I love, like swimming or spa days were frought with anxiety. My career was hugely impacted by all the opportunities I didn’t think I could I take. Purely because I didn’t look the way I thought smart, successful people should look. A hot summer was just extended discomfort. Constantly trying to balance not being too hot, with not being too visible. Covering scars, flabby bits, dodging photos, worrying that I’ll embarrass people I care about. I missed so much big and small, pushing things off for a time when I’d weigh less.

Oh how I wish someone could have enlightened years earlier. I’m still fat. I’m still covered in scars. I’m peely wally, stretch marked, my boobs sag. And I’m living life more fully than I ever thought possible. My size and appearance no longer feature in my decisions. No one who matters in my life cares about the number on a scale.

I’m not denying that fat phobia exists. Nor am I saying no one will ever judge you or be unkind. What I am saying is that the joy you gain from being fully present in all of your endeavours far out weighs all that bullshit. Plus, there is no cardigan or floaty top that magically conceals one’s size. Feeling worthy of respect and happiness was my first step in being able to fight for it.

Please let me cut through all the negativity. Wear the shorts. Go to pool. Put on your sexiest outfit and strut your stuff. Our visibility allows other people to step into the light. Trust me, it is lovely out here.

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Let’s talk about…

Let’s talk about breasts. Boobs, titties, knockers, baps. Whatever you want to call them. Just a human body part. So, what is all the fuss?

For a long time I thought I hated my breasts. I resented the attention they brought, the assumptions & limitations they imposed. I even looked into a surgical reduction to be rid of their weight. It’s only in recent years that I have realised that there is actually lots I enjoy about breasts. I didn’t hate them, they had just been weaponised against me.

Boobs are great. They feel nice. Breasts can be comforting. Nipples can have incredible sensation. They add lovely curves to the body. Mine look great in lots of things. They can sustain new life. Sure I wish my own didn’t give me back ache but they’re part of me and I like me.

Why all the hate, then? Well, we live in a world that projects so much onto these mounds of tissue. It starts so young. If you are a late bloomer, you are free game for mocking. Develop fast or bountifully and you will be Objectified. I managed to combine both. I was flat as a pancake and then between 14-15 years old my breasts went into overdrive. There’s years of being sexualised. Your peers will do it and you’re told ‘boys will be boys’. Then it somehow becomes a teenage girl’s fault that adult teachers are uncomfortable that they can see bra lines through a white school shirt or that her breasts bounce in P.E. Strange adults on the street will shout gross comments at a child in a school uniform. The bus driver will come onto you every day on the way home from school. Friends Mum’s will view you suspiciously because your body means you are not a ‘nice girl’. All along assumptions are made about who you are and how you can be treated purely by the fact that the tissue on your chest grew bigger than other girls your age.

As you grew older it just becomes more overt. Men in bars will comment on your body and if you complain you’re told it’s your own fault for showing cleavage. Any night out will include at least one random groping from a person you didn’t even say hello to. Getting angry garners insults. You are a slut or you’re ugly because you object to being sexually assaulted. Friends of friends will refer to you as ‘that girl with the huge boobs’. Jokes are made, envy expressed, inappropriate bra size enquiries are never ending. All the while there is an underlying implication that this is your fault. You are judged because of a body that you didn’t choose or have any control over.

It extends way beyond individual experiences. Everyone in possession of a pair is bombarded with messages about our own form. We have all had lists of things we can & cannot do. Don’t show bra straps, but you need a bra to control or enhance your shape. Clothes that aren’t ok for your body. Clothes that are sending a message. Activities we give up because we’re so tired of the attention we attract. We’re shamed if someone can see the outline of a nipple. Censored everywhere because a female presenting chest is sexual; even when it is feeding an infant. We still live in a world where using a breast for its intended purpose can be controversial. It’s all patriarchal bullshit.

ly is wearing a white t shirt with red print saying , if you can see my nipples under this t shirt it’a because i have nipples.
Tee – Curated by Girls

Our bodies are not inherently sexual. Seeing a nipple isn’t provocative. Breasts are just fat and tissue and skin. No more or less obscene than a nose or an armpit. The size and shape of our constituent parts bears no indication of who we are. Neither does how we choose to adorn them.

I feel sad that I ever considered surgically changing my body purely to avoid misogyny in its many forms. I am exhausted that at 41 I still have to explain the same point I was making at 16. None of this new. Yet, there are still umpteen men in my DMs every week talking only about my tits. I still get cat called and disapproving looks. A few years back a GP pointed out that she could see my bra poking out of a vest top and asked what message I thought that sent. This educated, professional woman could not understand my anger or the reason I complained about her comments.

I don’t how or when we bring this to an end. I do know it starts with me (& you) taking back my body. I am not for public consumption. I will continue to wear whatever pleases me. I’ll delete gross comments and if you dare to sexually harass me the very least you can expect is a loud fuck off. My breasts are large, my cleavage exquisite, but most of all they are mine.

ly  is lying in a circular swing wearing black & white print dress ad harness bra

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Coming out of my cage…

The R number is going in the right direction & phase 3 is here. Is everyone else as excited as I am? I’m still going to be staying at home rather a lot, but at least now I have options.

Obviously, I chose the boy & his Mama for my first excursion. I’m elated to know I can also see other people I’ve been missing like crazy. Today we tried out Cranside Kitchen , a lovely outdoor bar & restaurant. It’s entirely outdoors, but has a some shelter if required. I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to relax, but I actually felt very safe. The tables are nicely spaced & the staff have gloves etc. It was so lovely to sit in the sun & eat some yummy food (that I didn’t have to make). I even had some new purchases to try out making it an excellent Friday.

Brunch food
Plus size woman reading toddler a story
Plus size woman in beer garden wearing sheer dress with yellow skirt & crop top underneath
Sheer Dress – Monki
Kimono- Boohoo
Skirt – Primark
Crop Top – Primsrk
Sunglasses – Where.light
Sandals – Next

The boy seemed to enjoy being out in the world again. He loved his sausages & was very taken with the Finnieston crane. We followed up brunch with a trip to an almost empty bookshop. Again I was pleasantly surprised by how considerate everyone was. Hand sanitiser by the door, everyone in masks, folk very careful to keep their distance. I’m hoping Glasgow is going to smash easing lockdown sensibly.

Toddler in shorts & rainbow jacket looking at books on shelves

Books purchased & nap taken there was just times to hit the park. We had it mostly to ourselves & I discovered a kids toy that makes my aching back feel much better. How do I go about having one installed in my garden?

I don’t understand how it can be, but this is most comfortable I’ve been in weeks.

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Things that make you go moo…

Yesterday was apparently the hottest day of the year. Let me tell you, Glasgow is not set up for 30 degree heat. Selecting clothes that leave me a sweaty mess is getting harder every day. For yesterday’s day with my nephews I kept it pretty simple.

After reading some stories & making lots of mess with my bigger boy. I headed to the park to introduce the baba to my favourite her of highland cattle. I really love these cows and if course the little one did too.

I matched a 90’s inspired hankie hem with a simple black vest. I added a super light kimono for some colour.

ly h Kerr Pollok House

Skirt – Primark

Kimono – ASOS Curve

Vest – Primark

Woman & child playing in formal garden

Alas, I still melted. So much so that I had to knock up my own makeshift ice pack. Thankfully my factor 50 did its job and my skin remains almost see through.

Flushed

When Saturday comes…

Ikea on a hot Saturday afternoon is probably not a good idea, but when you have the coolest sister & cutest baby nephew anything is fun. When you get all the bits you need and finally snap a good outfit pic it’s a successful Saturday.

This dress is so old, but I bloody love it. Every summer I hope Monsoon will bring out another similar design, but so far I have been disappointed. I try to ration wearing it because I always feel amazing in it and I really dread the day it dies.

Monsoon print maxi, faux flower display Dress – Monsoon

Kimono – Truly Yours

This kimono is another old favourite and I added a new one to the mix with these cherry earrings. The Baba is particularly fond of the cherries, it’s a very good thing he is learning to be gentle or my ears might not survive.

Cherry earringsCherry drop earrings

Earrings – Gabi

If the print wasn’t enough to make you fall for this dress, it has pockets! Three cheers for feel good Saturdays.