Mummy gives the f*** up

Do you ever get to a stage where you can no longer see the point in doing something? I'm there.

Those of you that have been with me since the beginning will know of my forays into fitness; the pain and the (weight) gain because it hasn't worked. I started the year full of best intentions - I was going to play tennis every week, I was going to swim every day, I was going to go on my holidays sleek, toned and ready to tan.

Regrettably, six months later with a month to go until bikini-day I am more Capri than Caprice. So I've invested in a tankini.

I'm a mother of two beautiful, talented, kind and funny little girls. I have every right to be proud of my mummy-tummy and wear my pregnancy-ravaged skin with pride. In my head, I'm not 40-something (I'm not being coy, I genuinely can't remember if it's 3 or 4), I'm not invisible, I'm not OLD and the sag and drag of my middle-aged body feels alien. But it's here to stay.

We changed our wardrobe over a couple of weeks ago - you know, when you put your trust in the sunshine and heat and relegate your winter clothes to the loft/garage/other storage. It's always a voyage of discovery, reacquainting with your summer wardrobe: floaty, Bohemian dresses that make you look like you're wearing a badly-designed sack; cute shorts that are cut for firmer skin than your own, designed to hint at a pert cheek rather than serving as a frame for an arse like an elephant; pretty, strappy tops that show off back fat and emphasise your dinner-lady arms. Or maybe that's ust me.

Preparing for holiday for me is a mixture of panic (passports, insurance, sunscreen, sun-suits, sun-vest, sunhat (my girls are redheaded Irish-skinned burn-magnets)) and internal debate about what to pack (no one knows you; you'll never see any of them again; some of the states that dare to bare and you're worried?!). I want to feel comfortable, but I want to feel the sun on my skin. I want to swim without worrying that something, somewhere is going to be on display but not go for the full dry-suit. So I've invested in some bikini bottoms that have a little more support than your usual pair.

I'm fortunate that I have good legs- it's just with the general shape I've been cursed with (some would say apple, but I feel potato is truer to my heritage), I do resemble a promotional mascot rather than the head-turning sight I'm wish to be. I have been thin - gaunt even - but for someone who loves her food and needs to feed her brain regularly, it's not maintainable.

I made a lot of resolutions at the beginning of this year and aside from this notable failure I'm doing pretty well at keeping them. I've made another today.

I may not have the body of a younger woman but it's the one my husband loves, the one my children nestle into even though they're growing into little ladies, the one that has served me pretty bloody well so far in life. Why am I spending my life working towards a body that will look good for two weeks in a bikini and will mean I can't eat at all during my holiday in case I go all Dr David Banner (Nutty Professor for you younger readers) and burst out of my clothes.

I may not come back with sun kissed skin quite everywhere, but I won't scare the locals in my two piece, I'm going to be comfortable, and I'm going to have a lovely time away with my family, availing myself of the all inclusive and knowing that Lycra stretches.