Torture

Is there anything worse than shopping for a swimsuit? Wait. Let me rephrase. Is there anything worse than shopping for a swimsuit with 2 toddlers in tow? I’ve had the same (maternity) swimsuit since my first pregnancy. I’ve been wearing in and out of pregnancies. Nursing. And beyond. It’s one of those ‘swim dresses’ that’s great when you’re sunning but awful when it gets wet because there’s a plethora of fabric that takes eons to dry. Now that I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight (and am not pregnant) you could fit me and my oldest child into it together. Fitting, seeing as how I bought and wore it when I was pregnant with her.

Over the past 3 years I’ve eyed swimsuits at summer time. I’ve considered trying one on now and again. But I never had the guts to shed my clothes and squeeze myself into a skimpy non-maternity suit that would show off all the things I’d like to keep hidden. There have been a handful of times that I actually talked myself into trying some on and actually ‘shopping’ for a new suit. That usually lasts through the first suit I try on, then I give up, mortified, defeated, and shamed into returning home to my maternity swim dress.

Last month I found a swimsuit that was a good fit and, if nothing else, hid my tummy well and didn’t reveal baby-nursing cleavage to innocent bystanders. (We won’t talk about what my legs, tushie, and hips looked like though). But it was $78. And let’s face it. $80 for a garment that barely covers my unmentionables and makes me feel like a big brown Bessie is not my definition of a wise purchase. Well, I was at the mall today (which, by the way, if you haven’t read it, check out Mella’s recent post on that fine product of suburbia, the Mall) and I found that suit on sale for 50% off. So now, when I head down to visit my parents in Florida this weekend, I may look like big brown Bessie, but at least I didn’t break the bank for it! (And no, that’s not me in the picture. In fact, I look nothing like that in the suit.)

I’m sure the day will come when I’m not traumatized by swimsuit shopping. Either I’ll be svelte and tall and curvy in all the right places without any cottage-cheesey areas (oh, wait, I’m not tall… I guess that would be someone else), or I’ll just have learned that beauty is really on the inside and there’s no reason to worry about what’s on the outside. Yeah, right. Probably around my 80th birthday.

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