Week 7 Weigh-in - dose 5mg

Darlings, gather round. Detective JABatha is back with another thrilling installment of The Mounjaro Chronicles: The Shrinking Edition.

And let me tell you - the mystery this week isn’t “who killed the vicar in the library with a candlestick” … it’s “where the hell did my butt go?”

Yes, it’s weigh-in day, and the scales, for once in their lives, behaved.

I’m down 2.4 lbs this week, which means I’ve now lost a grand total of 18.7 lbs (that’s 8.5kg for those of you who like your numbers continental and chic).

I would say I floated down the stairs to weigh myself, but truth be told, I stomped down like an Olympic weightlifter because I was half-expecting a betrayal from the scales.

But no, the little digital devils finally clapped politely and said, “Congratulations, madam, you are officially disappearing.”

And ohhh boy, I can feel it everywhere.

Remember a few weeks ago when my jeans were tighter than a jar lid after your boyfriend insists he’s “already loosened it for you”?

Well, those same jeans now slide off if I breathe too enthusiastically.

Clothes that once gripped me like clingfilm on a sweaty sandwich are now hanging like sad curtains in a drafty church hall.

Even better: I bought a medium.

A MEDIUM. Me! MEDIUM! It’s practically a fairy tale. Somewhere a Disney princess just choked on her poisoned apple because she never thought she’d see the day.

I keep catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and doing double takes like I’ve walked into a budget version of Freaky Friday.

My stomach? Flat.

My waist? Snatched.

My arms? Not wobbling like they’re auditioning for Strictly Come Dancing.

The only mystery, as mentioned, is my poor butt. I swear it’s packed its bags and gone off in search of carbs. RIP my rear end - gone, but not forgotten.

But let me not sound ungrateful. The difference in how I feel is staggering.

Seven weeks ago, I was waddling through life like a stuffed piñata ready to burst.

Now I feel lighter, freer, almost aerodynamic. If you threw me down a hill, I’m fairly certain I’d pick up enough speed to qualify as a Tour de France cyclist. I might even consider running, though let’s not get ridiculous - nobody wants to see me flapping down the road like a runaway kite.

Of course, this weight loss business does come with hazards. The other day I bent down to pick something up and my trousers decided they’d had enough of our toxic relationship and slid dramatically to the floor. I stood there, holding a tin of beans, trousers puddled around my ankles, wondering if this is what weight loss influencers mean when they say, “non-scale victory.”

So here we are at Week 7, feeling fabulous, wearing mediums, saying farewell to buttocks, and wondering how long I can hold out before a complete wardrobe overhaul bankrupts me.

If you see me in the shops, lost in the size rails like a newly released Victorian orphan, just point me gently towards the mediums and whisper, “You’ve earned it, darling.”

The verdict? Amazing overall. My body is changing, my clothes are changing, my confidence is changing - and honestly, my shopping bill is about to change too. Worth it.

Case closed.

With Love,

JABatha Christie