The MILF Swimsuit Edition

This past Memorial Day weekend, (except for the tiny little moms who look more like their children's nannies than their mothers) I am the only mommy at the beach club not wearing a cover-up.   How do those stick-like moms do it?  Do they not eat ice cream?   Is it genes?  I admire their commitment, whether it's to skipping pasta and dessert or running 5 miles each morning. Work it, girls!  You earned it!  (Unless it's hereditary...in that case, sigh, some girls have all the luck. Carry on)

I don't want to not be wearing a cover-up.  But my 5 year old wants to go in the pool, and even though he's a good swimmer he rightfully asserts it's more fun to go in the pool with mommy. And I've yet to find a cover-up that's underwater-savvy.

And I love being in water.  Pools, inside or out.  Any ocean.  Most lakes and rivers. The tub.  I like playing Marco Polo and doing chicken fights.  But this winter we had A LOT of snow. And I baked a lot of cookies, breads, cakes and casseroles.  And there was a lot of vodka, books and board games.  And when the vodka ran out there was always wine. I wasn't able to run throughout the cold months and it was only in late April that I started running again (translation: labored jogging) on a regular basis.  The calories accumulated more than the snow.

So, to put it very forgivingly my nearly 5 foot 8 frame is carrying an extra 10-15 pounds.  This unwanted extra weight is getting lost slowly but healthfully. When you cease eating 5 banana chocolate chip muffins a day the weight seems to come off pretty easy, although I can't imagine why.  No one seems to care about my weight gain. Not my friends or my kids or my husband or my mom.  That is, no one except me.

I care deeply about my extra weight when I'm forced to parade into the pool at the beach club in a swim suit.  And I realize now how awful  it feels to be insecure about your weight because (despite my abundant insecurities) I generally have always felt good about my body. ( I think this stems from my father always telling me, without irony, that I was smart and beautiful when I was going through an awkward stage at 13 even though the potential permanence of my purple glasses, zits and braces must have scared the crap out of him.)

See, I've never had much hatred for my hips and curves.  The women whose figures I always idolized and thought were beautiful (whether in my family or on tv) were more voluptuous than skinny.  Especially since having two children I feel pretty amazed at what my superhero of a body is capable of.  (We don't know what its capable of! Except for eating an entire lasagna during a snow storm.  That much is clear.)  So this disgust at my body is something new and it makes me feel for women who struggle with body issues on a daily basis.  Throughout their whole life. Because how bad must it feel to constantly want to escape from your own body and know that you can't?

Since my husband was off on baby pool duty with our 2 year old and my be-goggled, sun-blocked 5 year old practically had ants in his pants to get into the pool, I steeled myself to molt my cover-up.  What was the alternative?  Giving up fun pool time with The Big A because I felt like an Orca?  Sitting on the sidelines and watching him play alone when I desperately wanted to be in there with him? Warping his young mind by saying "Mommy can't play with you in the pool because Mommy feels fat today."  Less so than being an unfortunate model of low self-esteem I feared the disappointed look that would flash across his face as he would surely doubt my intelligence while probably asserting "Mommy that's dumb."

So I did it. I stripped off the cover-up, tugged my bright pink one piece down to cover an escaped butt cheek, adjusted my straps and walked the length of the pool over to the steps with as much panache as I could muster.  No one even seemed to notice me, let enough laugh or leer.  Except that there was one dad sitting on the side of the pool with his wife and toddler.  He was wearing a visor  and full-on staring at me.  I knew the water would be freezing (hence why only a handful of kids were in, and no parents) but I slipped into the pool to The Big A's delight and began swimming after him.

I was surprised when Visor Dad raised his visor at me.

"I have to say something" he said.

"Okay."  I said cautiously.

"I have never seen someone enter a 50 degree pool so...elegantly. You just walked right in, like it was nothing. No squealing.  You're tough," he said admiringly.

"It's true!" affirmed his wife. "You couldn't get us in there!"

I was touched by this unexpected compliment.  I was both glad to be in the pool playing with my son and even a little ashamed I had felt so uncomfortable with my body to begin with.  I wondered, in a flash, if my extra padding even made the freezing water more tolerable.

I smiled at them. The cold never bothered me anyway.