Swimsuit Saga

With summer fast approaching, I have been planning ways to take Clark to the pool, splash pads, and any other place that has water fun for him. While browsing adorable little swim trunks for him, it occurred to me that this means that I, too, will probably need a swimsuit. And just like that, the wind was gone from my summer fun planning sails. Goodbye, coolest mom ever and hello, mom who wears a parka to the pool for fear of showing one square inch of flab.

As I Googled ‘Duggar swim suits’ knowing that those would be the only kind of suit that could hide my imperfections, I realized that they don’t actually cover their ankles. Which is unfortunate, because I have recently developed permanent cankles due to an immune disease that makes my lower limbs look (and feel) like tree trunks. Or it may have something to do with karma and the fact that I dubbed a boss I hated ‘Cankles’, but that’s probably not it, right? RIGHT?!

For me, the insecurity has little to nothing to do with the number on the scale. I am the thinnest that I have everbeen, and I have  less confidence than I did at 70 pounds heavier. It doesn’t really help that my 17 month old’s absolute favorite game is to follow me to the bedroom or bathroom where I undress, and then laugh, run over to me, and squeal with delight as he touches my stretchmarks. What they say is true…kids are BRUTAL. While fighting back tears, I made a conscious choice to smile and say ‘Do you like Momma’s tiger stripes? They’re pretty cool, aren’t they?!’ Luckily, he’s 1 and easily entertained (and he also doesn’t know that I had those marks before I was pregnant with him), so that elicited even bigger giggles. I chose to suck it up, quit sucking it in, and speak about my imperfections positively because little boys, just like little girls, develop their thoughts about their bodies by listening to how their parents speak of themselves.

Our children will have plenty of time and opportunities to critique their bodies – I (and you) really have no right to speed up that process for them. With the help of photoshop and unrealistic standards to live up to, they will someday wish that something, if not many things, was different about how they look. There are a few facts of life that I stand behind – 1. Puberty. junior high, and swimsuits are kind to NO ONE. 2. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY thinks they have the perfect body, and 3. Life is too short to miss out on a fun pool day with my son because I am worried about how big my thighs are. What does it really matter if I show up to the pool with some cellulite seeing the light of day? My 1 year old doesn’t care, and I have decided that I don’t, either. 

Besides, look how cute he is, and how much he loves water:

Morning Madness

I am blessed beyond measure that I have a husband and Clark has a dad who believes in the fact that dads are parents, not babysitters. It is one of the many reasons that I married him – I knew he would be a good, hands-on parent. His involvement has even reached a point where I am pretty spoiled by it.

On a vast majority of mornings, I have zero to do with getting our son up, dressed, fed, and delivered to daycare because Ryan handles mornings. This week for various work reasons, I have pitched in and taken over some of the morning duties. And it has given me even more of an appreciation for my husband.

Here’s how yesterday morning went:

We had to wake Clark up so that I could get to work mostly on time. As is sometimes the case, his overnight diaper couldn’t hold up for the 12 - 14 hours that our son sleeps each night, and he was covered in urine. Having underestimated the lead time I would need to make everything happen, I didn’t have time for a full bath. Luckily, our 20th percentile 16 month old still fits pretty comfortably in one side of the sink. Being that he loves baths, I thought it would be a pretty painless wash. I was wrong. He screamed bloody murder both getting in and getting out.

Cleaned, dressed, and fed, I loaded him up in the car and headed to daycare. After an uneventful hand off where he blew me kisses and signaled me to get on with my day and let him get to playing. Passing 3 or 4 other parents on the steps, most of us noticed the large truck that sped past the intersection, throwing something out of the cab. By the time most of us registered what had happened, there was a loud explosion, a few flames, some smoke, and shrapnel flying out of the object. I am assuming that it was a giant firework, but I have also been calling it a bomb. It sounded very bomb-y.

After a few screams and assessing that nobody was harmed, I made my way to my car and looked for my phone to text Ryan and tell him about all of the excitement. That’s when I realized that my phone hadn’t made it into the car from home. So I drove back and caught Ryan before he left for work. I told him my crazy story and asked him to call my phone.

We heard buzzing right away, but couldn’t locate it in time before the call went to voicemail. Two more calls and some searching later, we realized that it had fallen down into the recliner. This happens a lot, so we are accustomed to flipping the chair over, lifting the Velcro flap at the bottom, and the lost item typically tumbles to the floor. Only it wasn’t that simple this time.

Another call or two later, the cold, hard truth hit us. My phone was in the chair. Like, inside the FABRIC of the chair. There was a tiny hole in the fabric that my phone found, and was now resting in the very bottom corner of the inner workings of the chair. Armed with a kitchen knife to make the hole big enough to fit an entire arm of an adult through, Ryan helped to save my phone from the abyss.

All that being said, and a quick stop to load up on caffeine that was desperately needed, I was only 15 minutes late to work. I am calling that a win after a sink bath, roadside bomb, and a morning rescue mission. 2 more days of morning duty, and then I am going to kiss my husband, tell him how much I appreciate him, and leave the house at 5am so I never have to do drop off again!