The comfort eating stops here.

We had Baby B christened on Sunday.  It was a wonderful day.  He looked the part in a dinky little sailor's suit I bought online from Gilt.com.  My first and enduring blog love Faux Fuchsia would be pleased.  She is an expert on snappy dressing for small boys.

Thank you internet shopping, you've proved yourself yet again.

What a dapper little chappie.

The proud parents, who, as you can tell from this picture, are positively wasting away and need a jolly good feed or they will be SKIN AND BONES! I don't think.

With the priestly legs of the priest (Hi Father M!) and with P wearing her new dress.  

I was a bit worried that P's dress was borderline Mormon Sister Wife but decided that unless I did her hair like this, it should be right...

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I realised afterwards that I wore blue on this occasion and wore pink to P's christening in what could be mistaken for deliberate gender specific coordination.  'twas not on purpose I assure you.

Mum and I comparing bosoms.  P only had eyes for mine so I won.

There's nothing more motivating than seeing unflattering photos of yourself. I've been scrutinising the christening photos obsessively.  Oh my.  The comfort eating STOPS HERE PEOPLE!  I am not kidding.  OK maybe not including tomorrow which is Melbourne Cup.  But DEFINITELY AFTER THAT!  I SWEAR!  I'm thinking of taking up a different habit, something that can keep the pounds off, like exercise (I've fallen off the running wagon a bit), or meditation, or maybe crack cocaine.

Whatever works.

I wore some voluminous Bridget Jones-esque knickers underneath the dress (my mother was happy about that naturally) to smooth out the lumps and bumps and obviously to save innocent passers by from witnessing the full horror that is the flesh-rippling effect of my normal undies.  I am simply ALWAYS thinking of others.  Unfortunately this altruism backfired slightly when I came back from the loo and lined up for communion, only to have an elderly man tap me on the shoulder and whisper confidingly "Scuse me love, but you've got your dress caught up at the back".  The humiliation.  I laughed shrilly and yanked it all down.  Damn you huge undies, it would never have happened if I'd worn normal pants and been able to feel my legs.  I can only imagine the vision he copped an eyeful of, poor unsuspecting parishioner.  The stuff of nightmares.

Oh Lordy!

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