Bathing Suit Hell

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I had to pick up the shattered mess of my self esteem from the floor of a fitting room on Friday.  We’re already half way into summer and I’ve been able to stave off the inevitable bathing suit shame for this long.  Our holidays are in two weeks and I am most definitely not squeezing into the bikini I barely pulled off last summer.  And I can’t spend the holidays wearing a t-shirt over my swim suit like I did in grade 6.  So as necessity would have it, I must get a bathing suit.  It actually makes me miss the pregnancy belly, where you wore your belly loud and proud.  The rounder the better…the cuter.  Sigh.

So out we trek to the mall to catch the end of season sales.  I armed myself with a bit extra self confidence and some realistic hopes of what I’ll ACTUALLY be able to wear.  Thank goodness the one piece is trendy again!  However, I figured I could salvage the navy blue bottoms from my “skinny suit” and just find a supportive, full coverage and flattering top.  This was apparently half the battle.  I cruised the swimsuit section for the better part of half an hour just seeing what I was up against…the patterns, the prices, colours and styles.  I need the top to go with my navy bottoms and consequently this season, everything is black.  Of course if my bottoms were black I wouldn’t have a problem matching, but no.  Ready to dive in, I start with a few tankini tops.  I’ve always steered clear of pattern, preferring solid colours…but decided to live dangerously (and by dangerous, I mean dangerously close to a pattern that my mother would like)…(sorry mom).  But just to be thorough, I grabbed one of those too.  Bust enhancing, waist minimizing, tummy controlling…buh.  I need all those things.  Thus I start to feel a chip in the bay window of my self confidence.

Enter the change rooms.  First of all I’ve got a stroller, a wide one.  We barely fit into a standard size room, some inconsiderate lady is hogging the double wide wheelchair room for herself.  So I disrobe, get down to the minimals and Sofia decides this is the time that she wants to have a much larger role in the experience…cue fussing and the chip becomes a crack.

One thing I will NEVER understand about fitting rooms, is why the hell they ALWAYS have a heat lamp in there.  As if taking off and putting on clothes isn’t work enough, you’re having to do it under a buffet lamp!?  I start sweating.  Now, pre-pregnancy I never had this problem, however, post-baby, its like my internal temperature control blew out with my labour.  Its embarrassing really.  AND, bathing suits aren’t the easiest thing to slip in and out of, so its just a matter of time before I start pooling under my bangs.  Seriously…why did I even bother!?  The crack spreads and more appear…

I manage to narrow it down to three tops that are in the running.  And the mom pattern is actually in there…having breasts with actual function (and now 3x the size) and the baby pouch still in the mix makes the minimizing, controlling and enhancing absolutely necessary and I’m ALMOST willing to deal with the “grandma pattern”.  No wonder why they love these things…they’re friggen comfortable!  But why the dated patterns?!  Grandma’s like to be trendy too.

Exiting the sauna, I mean change room, I look like I’ve just had a quickie.  Messed up hair, a flushed and sweaty face I sneak out, trying to avoid the attendant who’s going to ask me perkily “How did things go today?”…I should have known I’m not that lucky and she tries to get me to sign up for a credit card to get an extra 25% off…you’re not gonna get me today lady!!  The cracks become too much for the window to hold up.

Anyways, with my selections, I take one for desperate look for something that has evaded my gaze.  Nothin’.  I narrow it down further by price and decide on one that will match my navy blue bottoms (not the granny one).  I leave the store feeling like I need a drink, but glad the experience is over and almost looking forward to see how my selection will look.  I get home and pull out my bottoms…my black bottoms.  SONOFABITCH.

So my advice to those of you who must get a bathing suit…go with the t-shirt.

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