I’ve come to terms with the extra ten pounds I carry and the fact that they let me enjoy cake guilt-free. So, the sight of a bunch of moms with thigh gaps lounging by the pool isn’t shaking my self-confidence—not at all.
Usually, the pool is our little sanctuary, just me and the kids, so I’m baffled by the sudden influx of these women. But really, I’m totally unfazed. I’m not wasting energy comparing my cellulite to their toned, sun-kissed legs, nor am I going to dwell on their perfectly rounded chests (seriously, are those even real?), all precariously held up by strapless bikinis.
I can’t help but wonder how their kids never manage to yank their tops down. If I wore something like that, I’d have a toddler pulling at it in no time. But I won’t speculate on the sorcery these women must practice to pull off such outfits; I’m confident in my own skin and have given up the quest for perfection.
One of the fitness moms squats at the pool’s edge, sunblock slathered on her fingertips, calling out to a little boy. “Come here, Carter! Come on, honey. Don’t make me count to three!”
I feel the urge to roll my eyes, but I’m too mesmerized by her athletic grace and her squirming child. How does she manage to apply sunscreen without losing her balance or flashing the entire pool? It’s like something out of a movie.
But none of this makes me second-guess my love for tankinis over bikinis. I’m content with myself, especially when I turn my attention to my four-year-old, Lily, who is now swimming like a pro and has just mastered doing somersaults in the water. I grab my phone to record her new trick and send it to her dad.
“Great job, Lily!” I call out. “Now sit on the steps with the other kids while I put my phone back in the bag.” As I text my husband the video, I notice Lily’s drifted away from the steps and is now treading water just inches from the pool’s edge. I’m not concerned; she’s a strong swimmer, and I’m not far away. But then she calls out “help,” which I’ve instructed her to say if she ever feels stuck.
I quickly scan the area: kids are in the way, and jumping in would risk landing on one of them. I decide to take the steps, moving quickly because, well, when your kid says “help,” you don’t waste any time.
Everything is going smoothly until my foot hits the first step, and suddenly I’m slipping like a cartoon character on a banana peel. My arms are flailing, time slows down, and I can’t help but think how I’m about to crash-land on someone’s child. My tankini top rides up, and my bottoms seem to be lodged in a rather uncomfortable position. In the midst of this chaos, I think, This is why I can’t wear strapless bikinis.
My shin scrapes painfully on the step, and I stub my toe on the concrete. The pain pales in comparison to the embarrassment I’m about to endure. I’m now submerged, my legs somehow defying physics, and I wonder if the fitness moms can see my unkempt stubble.
After what feels like an eternity but is probably just two seconds, I surface, grabbing Lily’s arm while discreetly adjusting my tankini. I sit on the steps with her, scanning the area for the child I must’ve accidentally knocked over in my dramatic plunge. But to my surprise, she’s perfectly fine, looking at me with a confused expression, as if asking, “What’s wrong with you?”
Not a single child is crying. In fact, the pool area has grown eerily quiet. Everyone seems to be either gaping at me or pretending to be captivated by their kids. Even the children are looking at me like, “What just happened?”
Finally, one of the fitness moms, whose top actually has a strap, breaks the silence: “Are you… okay?”
(No.) “Um, I think I’m bleeding somewhere, but… I’m fine?”
I pull my tankini top back down and try to adjust my wedgie as gracefully as possible. For the next half hour, I pretend that I haven’t just embarrassed myself in front of the thigh gap crew.
And there you have it. No profound life lesson here—just a tale of how I fell into the pool and had a wardrobe malfunction in front of those fitness moms. It was mortifying, and I’ll never forget it. One day, when I’m old and gray, Lily will lean over me and ask, “Mom, is there anything you want to say before… you know.”
And with my last breath, I’ll say, “Only ask for help when you really need it, you little rascal.”
This experience reminds me that confidence is key, and sometimes it’s best to just laugh at yourself. If you want to read more about home insemination, check out this other blog post. Also, for more insights into the process, you can visit Make a Mom, a great resource on this topic. Lastly, if you’re looking for guidance on pregnancy, UCSF’s Center offers excellent information.
Summary
In this lighthearted reflection, a mother recounts an embarrassing incident at the pool where she fell while trying to help her daughter. Despite the mortification of her wardrobe malfunction in front of a group of fitness moms, she embraces her body and finds humor in the situation, ultimately reminding readers to prioritize confidence and laughter in their lives.