The Verdict

It’s done. The weird experiment that was the cabbage soup diet is complete.  Firstly, doctor I think I deserve a pat on the back in mammoth proportions for having the willpower to stick to it.  Trumpet duly blown, pills I thank you.  That said, it was just a week, so I won’t get too carried away with myself.

Day four, “banana day” was fairly uneventful (except for the freak hailstones and random thunder and lightning, which clearly had nothing to do with my diet and everything to do with bloody typical Scottish summer weather.) My breakfast was as planned, a bowl of mashed banana and lots of skimmed milk.  Little Monster Blue declared that it looked like porridge.  “I just have mine Cheerios ‘stead.” he said screwing up his nose as he peered into my bowl.  Little Princess Pink disagreed. “It looks nothing like porridge.” She announced, “It looks like gunk!”  She was right of course, especially when I left it sitting in the bowl longer than I should have and it started to turn slightly beige.

Unsurprisingly, mid morning snack was a banana and even the vast spread of sticky, chocolatey, gooey home baked goods on offer at the soft play cafe didn’t manage to draw me in.  The ‘bounty balls’ were intriguing however and I could very nearly have given it all up for one of them, until fellow play date mum announced (and I shared) her horror at a pot of coconut (it’s a healthy fruit) from Waitrose containing 300 calories.  It’s fruit, FFS. Lunch was a banana whilst the kids scoffed their ‘pick 5 items’ lunchboxes and the smell of their crisps played havoc with my senses.

A new batch of soup was brewed on our return home and the addition of a minestrone cup –a- soup instead of golden vegetable as was in the previous batch made a world of a difference.  Two bowls of soup and three glasses of milk later and my stomach was a little more than swishy.  Dinner passed by in a haze of onions, green peppers and cabbage, but I had a rather large banana for desert and felt quite satisfied.  Hhm. Girly chat and night in with sister in law was takeaway-less and wine-less but the addition of another chum with a baby in her tum made for a night of reminiscing about birth stories, horrendous labours and being a mum.  I hope we didn’t scare her off.  The girls departed and the one remaining banana in the fruit bowl was winking at me as I went into switch off the kitchen lights. I felt sorry for it as it was clearly lonely, so banana number 5 was consumed with gusto.  And to be fair, it would be another 4 days before a piece of fruit was allowed to pass these lips again.

Saturday morning plus a Super daddy hangover equalled rolls and sausage.  The smell was akin to that when I was 15 and a devout vegetarian (who ate fish) and Dad would cook bacon on a Sunday morning.  Crikey, I’m salivating even as I write. Yet, I still refrained and had a pack of chicken breast slices and two vine ripened tomatoes.  By now, Little Princess Pink was beyond curious as to why I was eating lots of different meals to the rest of the family, and I struggled to explain properly that I was trying to eat a little healthier than usual. Damn that pre-school learning curriculum however, as I was as good as reprimanded by a four year old who factually stated that healthy and balanced meals were the best way to look after our bodies. And chicken wasn’t a breakfast food. This from the girl who regularly asks for Haribo for breakfast. Lunch = chicken and tomatoes and a bowl of soup. Dinner = another bowl of soup.  Super mummy = super cranky, super bored and super full of wind.  Apologies if that’s too much information.  Yet, I pressed on, ignoring my cravings for crisps and drinking another gallon of water instead and going to bed at 9.50pm. On a Saturday night.

Sunday morning brought a more cheery disposition and whilst the thought of vegetables for breakfast made me dry retch, the promise of a big fat steak for dinner filled me with all sorts of delight.  I passed the ‘not picking at anything from the kids party buffet’ test, but it was tough. Cheese sandwiches and chocolate crispie cakes hold a whole different level of appeal after abstinence. Upon my arrival back at the ranch following a lovely afternoon of birthday partying, Super Daddy had earned brownie points aplenty by serving me up a massive plate of steak and a host of brightly coloured veggies.  I devoured every last mouthful.

Finally, it was day 7 – the last day of the plan. Brown rice and vegetables, with a cheeky little fruit juice for breakfast.  Upon arrival at the office, my colleagues had a good old laugh at my expense exclaiming that I looked like I’d lost 12 stone in a day in a mock Peter Kay and his emancipated weight watchers lady style. I was asked to confirm if my address was indeed Acacia Avenue and if my middle name was Eric following the banana day.  But stepping on the scales this morning gave me the last laugh.  The digital numbers took a second to flash up, but boy was it a good feeling to see I’d lost a nice round half stone.

So, the verdict is this….

Yes, I found it easier than I expected.

Yes I would do it again. Especially if I had a special occasion coming up and a dress two sizes too small to fit into.

Yes, it lived up to its promised expectations of me feeling ‘lighter and having an abundance of energy.’

And, yes, I could murder a tube of Pringles, or three.

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  1. Look! You have a new look, it looks gorgeous, just lovely and clean. What a clever husband you have x

  2. Super Mummy says:

    Thank you muchly! Glad you like, I’m much happier with it, though it needs a few final tweaks…. I’ll get the clever(er) one onto it tonight x

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