With the summer solstice literally around the corner, I have to face the facts (and the music) and accept that it’s swimsuit season, like, NOW. I wish my body bounced back from pregnancy (can I still use that excuse 20 months later?), eating on the run, and life in general like Heidi Klum, but I apparently inherited different German genes and an addiction to coconut cake pops. So instead of sporting an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini when I hit the beach this weekend, I wore shorts, a tank top, and a sweater. I swear the sweater was justified because the wind coming off the water was pretty damn cold, but the black shorts and tank were an ill-conceived and impractical wardrobe choice. I do live in sunny California where any color but black and any material that can comfortably get wet seems WAY more appropriate for a day at the beach with a one-year-old wave dodger and dirt digger.
While it’s true that I definitely wouldn’t mind having a supermodel body, I don’t know if I could ever say Auf Wiedersehen to my sweets habit or find the energy to consistently hit the gym to whittle my waist. And in reality, I just don’t care that much if I’m not perfect. The real reason I went to the beach sans suit is because I don’t have one to wear. I know you’ve heard me use that famous excuse before, but the two I once owned went missing in our move from DC to LA and I have yet to find a replacement that doesn’t make me look like Pamela Anderson or Bea Arthur. Is it really too much to ask for a someone—anyone—to create a chic maillot that offers support and coverage for the girls without it looking like a nun’s habit?
My swimsuit boobage problems are further complicated by the fact that I repeatedly strike out at bricks and mortar stores. Just last week I spent four hours at the mall squeezing into spandex only to go home empty handed. Consequently, I often have to resort to online or catalog shopping for potential suits. Yes, they’re only mere possibilities at this point. I dread this fate because I usually rack up credit card debt simply to find one decent option that isn’t frightening and then as my consolation prize I get to waste a day of my life boxing, stamping, and returning the rejects, which are many.
Sigh. What’s a big-boobed, post-nursing mama to do? And, no, cosmetic surgery and wetsuits are not an option.
What do you think about these chic maillot? Hot mama or hot mess?
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Thanks for humoring me and reading my quarterly boob post. Look for the next one this Fall.
- The Other Sarah
Images by J.Crew, ASOS, and Victoria's Secret.
Image by Prinstagram.
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