Chubby Mummy

Nug has a habit of slapping me on the back. It's playful, but her aim is killer: she lands right on the emotionally-tender and juicy side portion that peeks out from under my shirt (W calls this "back bacon"). Giggling as she whacks away, I am reminded that I'm, uh... what do you call it? Oh ya, fat.

At my fittest: 130 lbs at my 25th birthday (almost 9 years ago!) 

Honestly, I've known it as far back as my wedding day. Ok, ok, I was 18 weeks pregnant, but I purchased a generously-cut dress that was two sizes larger and my mom still had to let out the seams. In relation to normal pregnancy growth, these measures did seem a bit excessive to me, but I was locked into a baby-carrying body with nowhere to go but bigger. Embraced by elastic-waist maternity pants, I had lost my feedback mechanism.

I lumbered up 52 pounds in pregnancy. I have lost all but five of those pounds, but here's the take home lesson: numbers don't mean a thing in a post-pregnancy world! I'm actually considering removing the labels from my clothing. It would save me ten seconds of a daily self-loathing loop, which adds up over time. Everything just fits differently. As last summer's clothes stay folded for yet another summer, I realize that no article is safe from the grip of motherhood (at least my shoe size remained the same, thank goodness, because my feet can't get much larger). I am also now ready to admit that I have crossed an important consumer threshold. Are you ready? Here it is: I shop in the Women's Department. No longer do I belong to Juniors (of which I was buying XL). I've been hiding from the truth, but my eye has wandered over the aisle to the fit and style of the Ladies Lounge.

Last summer, just happy to be in the water regardless of the attire

This brings me to today's topic: Swim Wear. I could end this blog in one word: UGH! But, of course I will write more. I had been waiting patiently for ye ole bikini to fit again until W gently pointed out, "I don't think you can wear that... style anymore." Right. Thanks. So I sent it off funeral-style, embalmed in a grocery bag on our front lawn with a sign for Goodwill pick-up. That was the easy part. Now I had to find the replacement. Something modest and young, I thought, that would allow me to chase a toddler sans wardrobe mishap.

Off to Sears, where I figured they specialized in the Young Modest. I drew a generous assortment from the racks, then sequestered myself in the dressing room while W chased Nug through the appliance department. Ok, I cheered to myself, let's get to work. I pushed and pulled my way through about 20 tops, bottoms, and onesies, all the while listening to my perky dressing room neighbor choose little high school graduation dresses. It was painful (actually, I did leave with a bruise). Finally I settled on a tank top and, get this, a skirt. I will be swimming in more clothing than I used to go clubbing in. But you know what? I'm so excited about my new suit that I can't wait to get back to the pool.

This is not me! This is a model who would probably never wear anything like this swim suit, but is wearing my new swim suit.