Without going on and on about it, I’m pleased to report that the swimsuit arrived, and was only the slightest bit roomy. I was able to put it on, hop in a hotel pool with my kids, and splash with them until they tired. (Well, until I tired, at least. My kids would never admit fatigue if there was more pool time to be had.)
Ugh. I did it.
I didn’t wanna do it, but it had to be done. The magical years of fun with my children seem to be whizzing by, and I don’t want to be remembered as the mom always standing at the edge taking photos because I hated water.
I still hate water — for extremely valid, extremely personal reasons that have nothing to do with what I look like. But…I’m finally willing to get in, if it means my kids will have a better memory out of that day to keep with them always.
That said, I was completely unprepared for life in swimsuits after having children. Or after losing weight. I knew some of my body parts would be…displaced…a bit, and I was prepared for the pooch of extra skin around my middle. But covering one’s boobs seems like a simple task, right? If you’re 5’0″ tall, not so much. In my recent quest to obtain a simple, PG-rated suit, even the ones recommended for D-cups had ginormous cleavage plunges I wasn’t comfortable wearing. (I’m actually a 36G, but apparently the only recommendation for that is a bulky t-shirt.)
I’m okay with women who are proud of their curves and all that, but here’s the thing…
Just like getting into the water slowly and letting one’s body acclimate to the new temperature, I’m still getting my toes wet with this whole not-being-obese-anymore thing.