It started very innocently. My happy summer by our California pool and now at the Florida beach has given me golden arms and a very freckled face. Lifting my shirt for the 30th time to nurse while casually lounging on my parentÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s patio, my little girl patted my pasty white belly and screeched, Ã¢â‚¬Å“BeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!Ã¢â‚¬Â? as though itÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s sheer glare blinded her for life.
I have covered my womb and its stretch marks since well before I gave birth to our son over three years ago. Even when I lost all the pregnancy weight the first time, I wore a one piece.
Mothers of my age shouldnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t go around in a two piece. WeÃ¢â‚¬â„¢re not 19 anymore. And we have children, for goddsake.
At 128lbs (my thinnest ever) I wore a modest one piece bathing suit. Ok, a little high on the side, and a no/low back going on. But other than that, it was just a black one piece.
Baby #2 is now almost 17-months old and IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m 148lbs. The belly is carrying that 20lbs. My laptop is sitting below it, currently, and if you didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t know any better you would think I was still 4 months pregnant.
So why, in the hell, would I put on a bikini? And then actually leave the house???
I blame my mother. Easy, I know. But I blame her for everything, so this works too. And because I saw one on the Target clearance rack and figured I could wear it in my backyard only. When no one was around. And I was in my own, private, backyard. Then my tummy could get some sun and the faÃƒÂ§ade of being a modest mother could continue. (Insert your own joke here)
I tried it on this morning and my mother insisted it looked great and I should wear it to the beach. THE BEACH.
So I did. And I spent the whole beach trip pulling it up. Fussing with the skirt/cover up so it showed less ass and less tummy, taking on and off my tank top. Then, finally, just not caring anymore. And that’s when the trouble started. Or in my case, when I had to forget about me for a bit and focus on, oh, say…the safety and well being of my children.
Ã¢â‚¬Â¦my son decided to chase some birds. Far. Far. Away. Being the typical male that he is, and the progeny of his dear old dadÃ¢â‚¬Â¦a 2-year-old girl-there with her elderly grandparents-followed him. Of course my mother was busy tending to my own daughter, and the elderly grandparents of the girl were in no shape to chase. So off I went. And I had to move fast, because both the tiny girl and her Pied Piper were headed to the seawall and it’s steep drop off into nothingness and tomorrow’s tragic news headlines.
Bizzaro Baywatch Mommy went running (feel free to mentally add the slow motion) in a bikini, in front of dozens of svelte locals and tourists, after two small and in-deep-shit children.
I had to do the boob hold. You know the one I am talking about. The one where you have to run, so you either grab your tits or what is holding your tits (in this case the halter top of the bikini) so as not to give yourself a black eye or flash the young and impressionable Floridians.Ã‚Â Ã‚Â
IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d also like to point out that running in sand is in no way romantic, easy, or fun.
I shall now crawl back into my one piece and start the revised hippo diet. It will begin next week (when my vacation and motherÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s cooking ends) and involve many green veggies and fruit.
Ã¢â‚¬Â¦or maybe just lipo and booze. WeÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll see how it goes.
Until then, our beach photos are up on Flickr. Lucky for you, IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m wearing my tank top.