We are going to Mexico (yay)! So, I need a new swimming suit (boo)!
I haven't bought a swimming suit in five years. Yes, that means the last time I wriggled into Lycra in front of a three way mirror was long before the fertility treatments -- and the pounds that came with them. Now, granted, I have lost some of that weight since, but I was still nervous. I needed support. I needed a distraction. I needed Meg.
Look at the cute toddler, not at the fat girl in the Mom swimsuit.
And no, I wasn't just taking pictures of myself, I was sending them to Tara for advice.
Meg thought shopping for swimsuits was hilarious. She loved running through the aisles, putting on the straps, and taking all the compliments from the saleswomen. She loved the echo in the dressing room. Most of all though, she loved watching me try them on.
Wait, that sounded bad. I'll explain.
Meg is at that age where she wants to know EVERYTHING. If there is a thing she cannot name, she points and says "that." We then tell her what it is called, and she repeats it at least four times, cementing into her brain. One of them words she recently stuck there? Boobs. So, every time I would take a swimsuit off, or start to put one on Meg would look up at me, point, and say "Mom's boobs."
Did I mention the dressing room echoed?
I was embarrassed at first. I tried to distract her with games on my phone, but every time I was topless she would comment. Finally, I just gave up. Every time she said it I would just say "yes, those are my boobs, or breasts. Can you say breasts?" I figured that would at least sound a bit classier to the women in the neighboring booths, and get her practicing her r sounds.
In the end though, Meg made it the most painless swimsuit shopping experience. After all, I will never see any of those people who heard her yelling about my boobs again, plus I'm pretty sure most of the saleswomen are almost totally deaf.
Oh, and I didn't focus on my thighs at all...