Post inspired by Weirdgirl.
I didn't want to have to blog about this. Frankly, I didn't even want to have to think about this but with a trip to San Diego for the July 4th weekend and a My-Parents-Are-In-Russia-So -We-Can-Have-a-Pool- Party-with -A-Kegger-And-Do- Canonballs-with-Beers-in- Our-Hands-Because- My-Parents- Are-Out-of- Town! upon us I feel the need to express my concern: I have no idea what kind of bathing suit to wear.
I have not purchased a swimsuit since Archer was born. I have not purchased one since way before I was pregs and kinda rocked the same tie-dyed two piece for a couple years prior. I know, peace, right? Peace and hemp.
The last time I owned a one-piece I was six. It had polka-dots and a ruffle on the butt. I grew up in a bikini and like the photo you will see coming up on your right (sounds like we're on the Jungle Cruise) was quite comfortable wearing one, er, half of one. (Shut-up, it was the summer of exhibition and flat-chestedness and yes, feel free to make fun of/and or black mail me when I run for political office.)
Where I grew up bikinis were like breathing. It didn't even matter if you couldn't pull it off. I fondly remember Katie Nameshavebeenchangedenstien who clocked in at about 300 Lbs and still rocked the bikini without the slightest concern. She just threw on a pair of Roxy Board shorts and paddled out with the rest of us, not to mention she was a waaaaaay better surfer than us little things. Whateva.
I know it sounds ridiculous but when I think of a one-piece I think of this frightening cover-up that out-of towners seem to love*. I believe they sell them on old-folks-homes and Miami thrift shops. I also think of those hideous things with the built in skirts.
But lastly and perhaps more importantly, when I think of a one-piece I think of my Mom. For the record my Mom wears way cute one-pieces and she looks smoking hot for 50. The woman is a total GILF and I can only hope and pray I grow up to look like her. Hubba-hubba. BUT she is 50 and I am 25 and I'm not sure if I'm ready to retire the triangle top and join the the club. I'm just not sure.
This painful limbo winds like the path I hath traversed by my lonesome for over a year now. I weigh the pros against the cons and back again. I search the web almost daily for something cool and vintage and perhaps red or polka-dotted that might be hot enough for me to cross over from the beloved two-piece to one without aging 25 years.
I have discussed this matter with several people. One of whom recommended the in-betweeni. The "tankini." I have always been positively anti-tankini just as I have always vocalized my disdain for juicy-couture sweatsuits and swarovski crystals. I wish they would be outlawed worldwide but alas, first we need a new administration and then a few other million-trillion things and then we can talk fashion crimes. I am keeping a list though, fyi.
I tried on my old b-suit the other day and it was fine-ish. It fit, yeah but there was something not quite right. Oh yeah. I remember now. There's that whole stretched-out belly thing. Do I really want to flaunt that shit? I mean, if I happened upon me at the beach wouldn't I want me to put that away? Or would I be proud? Would I be like, "hell, yeah Mommy-bitch! Embrace your postpartum bod with pride!" Would I smile and secretly throw-up in my mouth? WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH!?
It's like this. Ditching the bikini, though seemingly trite and no-big-deal-ish feels like a really big deal to me. It means I'm done with that. In this case that is a very loaded word that goes beyond a tan tummy and tying bikini ties in creative ways-- a kris-kross here, a loopty-lou there. Sex appeal and style replaced by function and I hate function.
Ditching the bikini for the one-piece feels like going from young and sexy to old and utilitarian. It means I'm going from twenty-something to simply, "Mom". Isn't there a way for me to be both? Pretty please?
It's this goddamn circle I've been spinning in, blindfolded for months. Please, oh please, point me toward the pinata.
*Actually I'm kind of thinking the cover-up bikini-bod monstrosity might look really hot worn as a smock with some knit leggings and ballerina flats. Don't tell Lindsay. She'll for sure bite it.