The Mommy Bikini

Every woman comes to THAT time in her life.  You know, the time that you feel crampy and crabby.  No matter what time of day it is, you are bloated and pissed.  And pretty much the only thing keeping you from becoming homicidal is a bar of chocolate.  Yep, you guessed it...I'm talking about swimsuit shopping.

Is there anything worse than shopping for a bathing suit?  No.  There isn't.  It sucks and yet we have to do it.   Even if you don't EVER actually put it on, it is imperative that you have one sitting in the back of your sock drawer mocking you every time you open it.  So, we make ourselves miserable by going in and trying it on, which inevitably turns into an inner monologue of self-loathing.  Then we spend a ridiculous amount of money on the only one that didn't immediately make us throw-up in our mouths a little, and we tuck it away, tags and all into some corner of a dark drawer knowing full well that it will never again see the light of day.  I absolutely HATE swimming suit shopping.

So, I'm proposing that we open a new sort of bathing suit store.  First of all, bikinis will not be allowed and anyone who walks in and asks for any size that does not include at least two digits will immediately be punched in the face as they are escorted back out the door.  There will be a rack for the "new mommy", one for the "mommy to be", and of course one for the "mother of 4 or more."  This rack will only contain those swimsuits with a girdle sewn into the bottom, and stainless steel cups to hold the girls in place. You see, when 4 kids have been hanging off of them for the past 8 years, regular underwire just doesn't cut it.   This new store would NOT have any mirrors.  No one actually wants any mirrors around when they're trying on a bathing suit anyway, and if they do they have probably already been punched in the face.  And, there would be no need for self-loathing and promises to oneself that when you get home you will begin a strict crash diet.  In fact, this store would give you a free donut with every purchase.  That's right you single digit, swimsuit wearing wenches...bet you wish you'd asked for at least a 10 right now, don't you?

Yeah, that would be nice.  But, since it doesn't exist I will just stick to swimming with the short people in my house.  They don't judge me when I walk down the stairs in my purple (seemed like a good idea at the time, but now sort of resembles a certain dinosaur that I'd rather not mention) full body suit/tent.  They're just happy that I'm playing with them.  They don't care that there are a few more curves than last year.  And really, they shouldn't have a problem with it because it's totally their fault that they are there in the first place.  I still hate putting it on, and I still sort of walk/run to the pool and get in as quickly as possible.  But, it's easier to take when your 4 year old looks at you with all of her baby honesty and says, "Oh, Mommy, I LOVE your bikini."

Finders Keepers

I have a theory.  My thought is that there is a direct link between increased amounts of testosterone and not being able to find ANYTHING that isn't surgically attached to your body.  Obviously, men have this issue but I'm also convinced that all children are born with a little more testosterone than needed and eventually the females just replace it with estrogen.  At that time, they seem to be a little more adept at locating things.  I swear if the "lost" item isn't IN my husband's hand, he simply cannot find it. For example:

Jeff:  Do you know where my shoes are?

Me:  Did you look in your closet where we keep YOUR shoes?

Jeff:  No.

Me:  Oh, I see.  They weren't on your feet, so therefore they have magically disappeared.

Kids are no better.  The worst part about kids is that they KNOW that Daddy can't find anything either, so even if they are sitting right next to him, they will get up and walk a mile and a half to find me and ask me to find the lost item.  We have a rule that you are not allowed to ask mommy where something is until you have actively looked for it.  This does NOT include standing in one place and complaining that said item hasn't appeared in your outstretched hand.

My husband has his daily misplaced items which always include the keys to his car.  And that is a serious problem because he already lost the extra sets of keys to BOTH of our vehicles.  We do have an actual key holder right inside our front door, but putting them there would just be too sensible.  We must ALWAYS throw them haphazardly on some surface that the children are guaranteed to touch, and it can never be the same surface because then we would know where they are the next time we need them!  He also has his chronically misplaced items.  The man has had approximately 27 different pairs of sunglasses since I met him.  I've had three.  However, I believe the most ridiculous example of his, "I can't remember where my own ass is" moment was just recently.

We had just watched our oldest son win his championship baseball game.  He was so excited, and decided to talk to a few of his friends after the game.  I told Jeff that I was going home with my mom so that I could feed our youngest son before she and I left for a short trip to Springfield.  He arrived at Mom's a few minutes after we did, and sat down on the couch to use the computer.  After a few minutes, my Dad asked what our 4-year-old daughter, Morgan, was doing.  I looked at Jeff for the answer and he sort of just sat there for a second and then his eyes grew wide.  I SCREAMED at him to, "GO GET HER!!!"  He jumped up off the couch and sprinted for the door.  He had LEFT her at the ball field!!!!!

That's not the best part.  When he came back, he tried to blame ME for not TELLING him to get her.  Oh, right, jackass.  I forgot to tell you that we still have FOUR children.  Wait, did you also know that in order to continue living you have to breathe in AND out?  I mean, if these are the kinds of things I have to tell you then we may have a problem!  Of course Morgan was fine because she can make friends with a grasshopper if need be, and in fact she didn't even know we were gone.  When I asked her if she was scared, she told me some story about her flip-flop not staying on her foot. 

I'm not saying that I've never lost anything.  I've had four children, so my brain is mush.  What I do have is the ability to LOOK for things that are "lost."  Although, I guess if my theory is correct then he really can't help it. It's just the testosterone at work. So, fine...as if the female body doesn't have enough going on, I suppose we must come to terms with the fact that the uterus is also a  tracking device.

Do these pants make my feet look big?

So I was in the bathroom doing my make-up, and my four-year-old daughter came in and started telling me a story.  (This, by the way, is the rule.  If Mommy is in the bathroom for ANY REASON AT ALL, someone under 4 foot is absolutely REQUIRED to join her.)  I have no idea what she was talking about, but I do remember that she was playing on the bathroom scale.  I happen to remember that detail because she paused, mid-sentence, as only 4-year-old children can and said, "Someday when I'm a big girl that number on here will go all the way to the top!! Then I'll be in the big numbers!  Just like you, Mommy!  You get to be in the REALLY BIG numbers!" Thanks kid, you're out of the will.

I thought about her comment for a moment.  First of all, why in the hell do women even OWN scales.  Seriously, we should never EVER purchase such a thing.  It's worse than a medieval torture device.  And secondly, at what point do we stop wanting to be in the "big numbers?"  I mean, the girl was rather devastated that the number wasn't going any higher and I can recall a time just last week when I decided to piss myself off by standing on the damn thing and thinking that it was most likely broken (as has been the case with every scale I've stepped on in the last 8 years.)  They just don't make things like they used to...

Anyway, I think I'm going to take a different approach to this "weight loss" thing.  I'm gonna take cues from my four-year-old.  It just makes sense.  She is beautiful, completely satisfied with the body she was given, AND she eats chocolate ice cream like it's her last meal.  The point is, I think in order to be successful at this I'm going to need to like myself FIRST.  As difficult as that may be, I'm pretty sure I've got the world's best teacher.  Just today she found a new swimming suit in her dresser, took it out, looked it over once and said, "I'm going to look SO cute in this."  With that kind of attitude, how could I possibly go wrong?

While in the bathroom with my daughter, I decided to make it a learning experience, as I often find myself doing for whatever reason.  It's probably just because I'm a mom, and I try to "teach" when possible.  As is often the case, there was definitely a lesson involved but I'll let you decide which one of us was the teacher. The conversation went something like this:

Mommy:  "Morgan, can you tell me what number is on there?  How much do you weigh?"

Morgan: "Well, I don't really know how much I weigh...but my feet weigh 40 pounds."

And this is why my 4-year-old is a genius.