The Post About How Good I Look in a Swimsuit

I have successfully avoided having to wear a swimsuit all summer. I figured that after giving birth to J I'd have plenty of time to indulge my post-pregnancy body with a few fat stores.

Outside of the bewb area, my body returned to its pre-pregnancy weight and general shape in a few (read: several) months.

I was looking pretty decent . . . in clothes. I eyed the drawer with my pre-pregnancy swimsuites with dread. For I knew the truth. Things had shifted. Things had softened. Things had become . . . jiggly (and not the good Girl's Gone W*ld jiggly either).

But, I didn't have to wear a suit. There was no swimming this summer.

Until last week.

I pulled out all my swim suits in anticipation for J's first swim class.

No. Never. Gonna. Happen. I sucked in and held my breath. I contorted my body in very unnatural ways just to TRY to look decent in the suit. Nope. The dream was dead . . .

I even tried on the maternity suit. Nope. Totally cute on a pregnant chick, but sad and pathetic on a not pregnant chick.

We went on a mission. To the mall! Mr. Husband, J, and me.

Have you ever been to the mall when it is POST swimsuit season and all that is left are the remnants? Mixmatched tops and bottoms along with one-piece (nightmare patterned) suits were relegated to the back "clearance" corners of nearly every store.

Mr. Husband tried to help.

He pulled out stuff like this top . . .

and this bottom . . .

You know, God bless him for thinking I could actually wear stuff like this . . . ever. But, um, his fashion sense is well, horrible. And, given the slim pickings, it was getting rough.

This kept up for hours. HOURS. But how do you tell the hubs that while you are grateful for his help, he just isn't helping? You send him to go get a pretzel. Avoidance rocks.

I finally did find something. At the last minute.

Standard suit w/ a duo use as a tarp. 99% off. Great deal. It fit. All the jiggly stuff was strapped down. The chubby stuff that leaked out the sides would most definitely not be an issue. I was going to be surrounded by other moms! Who cares, right?

I was good to go.

The first class was great. J and I were the ONLY ones for the infant swim class. But I wasn't worried. I was amongst 70 and 80 year-old women (who stayed behind after finishing their arthritis swim) and one fifteen-year-old female lifeguard. No one cared what I looked like. They all zeroed in on J and I was just his shadow.

But the sweet little lifeguard informed me that she'd be heading back to school and a new guard would be taking over the lessons. What?

The old ladies all chimed in and described him. "Oh, he's so cute!" "He'll give you and J the best one-on-one attention!" Huh? What? "He's tall and got that long hair . . . oooh, Agnes, isn't he dreamy?" OK, I added the last part, but you get the drift.

Panic set in. You know, in ANY other setting (and I do mean ANY), I am completely cool with my appearance. I'm fully aware I'm no Giselle. I'm OK with that. But something happens to me the minute I know I'll be EXPOSED. Suddenly I am transported back to my early teen years. My girlfriends gobbing on oil as they arched their backs to show off their teeny bikinis. Me in a one-piece with an extra large t-shirt on. Hot guys paraded past us, ogling my hot friends. I was invisible to them and I was perfectly happy with that. I had HUGE thighs of which I was horribly self-conscious. I was a runner. A sprinter. I had lots of muscle. Big muscle. But big muscle was not in. I was not in. And again, wrapped up in my extra large Def Leopard t-shirt made the lack of attention perfectly OK with me.

What would have happened had one of the hot beach dudes talked to me, you ask? I would have dug a whole in the sand and climbed in. Even my invisiblity cloak (Def Leopard t-shirt) would not have been able to save me. Something about ME + swimsuit simply does not go well with me interacting like a normal human being with cute members of the opposit sex. A sad reality.

But I was about to be exposed. And not in a situation where I could just mix in with throngs of swimsuit-wearing ladies.

I prayed that other mothers/babies would join the group before the next class. I hoped that the fifteen-year-old lifeguard would realize that school was overrated and get back to lifeguarding. I wished that there was a magic pill to give me the confidence I needed to face my demons (AKA cute lifeguard).

Today was the day that me, in my "mom" swimsuit would face her demon. I held my head up high as J and I entered the pool area. I was ready. I could do this.

The ladies greeted J with a cacophony of hellos.

It was just J and me . . . again. No other babies. No other mommies. My eyes darted to the lifeguard stand. No one was there.

I quickly unwrapped my towel and J and I headed into the pool.

As J splashes in the water I hear a deep male voice behind me. I start sweating. OK, maybe not sweating, I mean, I'm in a pool. But seriously, the panic starts to set in. I slowly turn around and find

not this
but this

Garth jumped in the pool. J giggled. Garth blew bubbles. J giggled.

Mama sighed.

And all was right with the world.

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