Tracy-Ann Oberman 

Gold, frankincense and flu

Tracy-Ann Oberman: Husband gave me and the baby a shared present this Christmas. Flu.
  
  


Husband gave me and the baby a shared present this Christmas. Flu. He picked it up at the office party and very sweetly passed it around his two favourite ladies. We might as well have daubed "Unclean" on the front door because everyone gave us a wide berth, including my personal trainer, who wisely escaped to the United States.

So for three weeks, I have done nothing except moan and eat. Which is annoying, because I always thought that being in the public eye, and an actor to boot, would have been enough of an incentive to have me running through the bracken of Hampstead Heath, even on the verge of death. I mean look at Liz Hurley, who apparently had a "lock in" at Elton's house for two months doing God alone knows what, only to emerge with a killer swimsuit body.

On the other hand, friends proclaimed: "Stop being so hard on yourself. You are not Liz Hurley. You never will be and you've just had a baby, for Christ's sake. Relax!"

And so I did. I shovelled leftover Thorntons and Christmas log like there was no tomorrow, with the baby practically attached to the breast, frantically surfing channels in the vain hope that there would be something worth watching this year.

Subsequently, the fruits of non labour reared it's head in Brent Cross shopping centre when a well-meaning fan ran over all excited"Oh, Chrissie, I LOVE you ... And when's your baby due? Due?! DUE?!!! You silly woman, I wanted to scream, the baby is four and a half months old and I have already lost one stone and nine pounds. How very dare you?

But then I looked down and saw that I had come as Britney Spears (post-baby Sean), in a tiny sweatshirt that had shrunk in the wash, and the most unflattering pair of tracksuit bottoms known to mankind, with my tummy gently hanging over the top of them. Gorgeous.

In pre-baby days I wouldn't have been seen in public in anything less than a DVF [Diane von Furstenberg] wrap-over, heels and full hair and make-up. But I am torn between wanting to be a barefoot and casual new mum and a successful actress still able to play those strong, sassy, sexy types.

Right, this really is it: henceforth (or until someone writes a drama whose central character is a sassy, sexy, breastfeeding, slightly plump, new mum), I'll leave no stone unturned in my quest to get my body back.

 

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