I almost bought a bikini on Friday.
The weather has taken a turn for the fucking delightful up here in the great white north, and that of course means we spent the weekend submerged. On Saturday we went to the oh-my-god-my-head-still-hurts brand spanking new indoor pool of pure glee with waterslides and waves pools and hot tubs and baby hot tubs and spray guns that any old kid can use to take your eyes out. It was fairly epic. Except that it was fairly epic for all of 30 minutes for the 11 year old and then he was forced to go all emo, and it was total heaven for the three year old who isn't quite big enough just yet to sustain the force of a wave pool, but *just* big enough to want to do it BY MYOWNSELF MAWM so she now has a full grasp of the meaning of the word undertow, and enough chlorine in her tummy to sterilize her pee until she's 32.
The 9 year old was in pure, nothing to complain about heaven. For once in his life. So there's that.
We bought these giant blowup ridey thingies that I underestimated both the size and the blowupedyness of, and I also underestimated the amount of charge left in my portable air pump. I also have greatly underestimated the toll that 10 years of on and off smoking has had on my lungs, and halfway into blowing into a green dragon's special places I am pretty sure I saw God. But I got those things inflated, dammit. And then one popped, one kept tipping over and one was crimpin' someones style, so some little 2 year old at the pool had a hayday with our abandoned toys and I think I may need to go to church now.
I think my point was that I didn't have a swimsuit that still allowed circulation to my legs, so I had to go hunt one down. And I found three. One of which was not just a two piece but a two piece bikini. The one and only time I've even been able to get my so-white-you-can-see-through-it fat ass into a bikini was the summer that I met The Donor, and I was good and knocked up within minutes of that day at the pool, thanks to some really awesome abs and Clueless on network tv after. To each his own, yo.
I have not magically shrunken; in fact, I still have about 50 pounds of baby weight from that pregnancy to lose still and I'm thinking that after 11 years, I can stop waiting for the breastfeeding to burn off the pounds everyone told me it would. Dirty liars. What I think I have done is come to terms with these thighs and the abdomen that looks like a vagina and realized that if I can't fight it, I might as well join it. And then I found a bikini that was cut for a woman. Who's cranked out a colony of children. And has flipped the gym one choice finger. And has learned to love truffles. And I do mean love.
So I almost bought it, except that my National Geographic boobs have no interest at all in staying inside something that doesn't come with barbed-under-wire, and so I went with two tankinis. That I actually looked pretty freaking hot it. Well, maybe that's a bit extreme. I certainly thought I looked pretty hot in them.
But it turns out that I actually looked like one of those enormous mother whales who lie dreaming suckling their whale-tender young.
Which didn't matter in the least to me, because for some reason *coughmedscough* I thought I looked a bit o' alright, good enough in fact to go to the beach the next day in the other one, and actually walk around in that swimsuit, sans circus tent to cover it up with. And then I came home, edited my pictures and realized why I felt like I looked okay. Because next to this, who cares what I look like.
and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.
~With apologizes to DH Lawrence. I can only imagine how uncomfortable it must be to roll over in that grave.
The rest of the beach pictures are on FlickR. And they really don't suck.