As I glance down at my soft, squishy thighs and adjust my swim skirt, a singular thought crosses my mind: I really dislike public pools.
My daughter, Mia, is splashing around like a carefree 4-year-old, while my husband, Jake, removes his shirt, pokes at his pale belly, shrugs with a “meh,” and cannonballs into the water. Meanwhile, I’m stationed in a lounge chair, immobilized by the sight of my thighs glowing in the sunlight, wishing I could just observe comfortably behind the fortress of my oversized beach bag.
I watch Mia and reminisce about the carefree days before puberty when I would run around in frilly bikinis, living at the pool all summer long. I could open my eyes underwater, dive to the bottom, and launch myself out of the deep end in seconds, chasing friends down the slide. Now, the very thought of running in this braless swim dress makes me cringe, so I wrap myself more tightly in a large towel.
As a group of fit, sun-kissed moms in tankinis stroll by, I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. Honestly, I think I might hate them more than the giggling teen girls who are busy pulling at their bikini strings. I adjust my straps and roll my shoulders back, painfully aware of my marshmallow-like appearance.
“Mooom! Come in!” Mia shouts, her voice piercing through my thoughts. Jake squints at me, asking, “Aren’t you hot?” I shake my head, but I can see the annoyance flicker across his face and disappointment on Mia’s. How do I explain that my limbs look like fluffy clouds, that the swimsuit I thought was cute has transformed into a laughable muumuu, or that I’d trade anything for my comfy jeans and a proper bra?
Then I spot another mom—let’s call her Lisa—who seems like your average, relatable mom, rocking a cute swim dress. She’s holding her child’s hand in the shallow end, blissfully ignoring the Tankini Moms and the screeching teenagers. Instead, she’s engaging with her little one, encouraging her to venture a little deeper with laughter.
I glance down at my towel-covered body and feel utterly ridiculous—and overheated. Why on earth should I care about my cottage cheese thighs? Who cares if those silly boys smirk at the pool? I’m missing out on teaching Mia how to swim underwater! So, I take a deep breath, muster my courage, and slowly rise to my feet. I force myself to focus on my daughter, not my wobbly bits, and make my way down the pool ladder.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her insecurities about body image while at a public pool, contrasting her current feelings with the carefree days of childhood. Despite feeling out of place among fit moms and self-conscious about her appearance, she realizes the importance of enjoying time with her daughter, Mia, and decides to embrace the moment instead of hiding.