A blast from the past from the Marion Mom

Esitor’s Note: For any new moms out there singing the post- baby bathing- suit blues, here’s a column from August of 2018 to let you know someone feels your pain…

The baby arrived on Tuesday, Aug. 7, amidst a heavenly infusion of drugs that obviously eradicated birthing pains, but also pleasantly, however temporarily, quashed the back pain I’ve been suffering due to a herniated disc.

Regardless of the fact that I couldn’t feel my legs, I tried to talk the anesthesiologist into giving me one to take home.

He said no. I was only halfjoking.

She weighed 7lb., 13 oz., but my home scale provokingly announced I somehow managed to lose only a mere seven pounds after delivery.

Ten days later, I found myself shopping for a swimsuit. Because that’s good for self-esteem.

The dead man’s float had proven effective for temporary relief of the debilitating back pain I had suffered the last two months of pregnancy, and I was eager to return to it after the doctor cleared me to swim.

However, I’m a tightwad. I had no intentions of spending good money on a maternity bathing suit when my standard suit would work just fine.

But see, here’s the thing — how do I put this delicately? — a woman’s body, well, it goes through changes during pregnancy, as in, enlarging, and not just the belly. I mean, anywhere that can be enlarged, will be enlarged.

I ignored it. Spandex stretches, right?

Apparently, even spandex cannot recover after a full summer of nearly daily elongation. What started as a size medium ended up at a size maternity extra large. As you can imagine, it did not end well.

And that’s why I found myself in a daze, staring at racks. And racks. And racks. Of tankini tops, bikini tops, high-neck tops, high-waisted bottoms, lowrise bottoms, stringy bottoms that looked more like they belonged in the craft section, one-pieces with skirts, one-pieces with large hunks cut out in all the right places (or wrong, depending on which side of curvy you land).

And the sizes!

I couldn’t even confidently pick a size before my additional 45 pregnancy pounds.

Now I had literally no idea, except large- er.

I would find a style I liked only to be dismayed that they offered small, extrasmall, and “Your five-yearold might fit in this one.”

I would find XL or 2XL (I ain’t ashamed), but the style looked like Muumuu meets Quilting Bee. Why do designers think large women don’t deserve style?

After a frustrating two hours, during which I had to relocate to the food court seating section to nurse the baby under cover and stare down a creepy, overly-curious single man, I took eight suits to the dressing room, baby, car-seat, and stroller in tow.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said an employee manning the dressing room. “You can only have six items at a time.”

I must have appeared the perfect mix of desperate and overwhelmed at the thought of trying on two separate sets of swimwear while also tending to an infant, so she added, “But I guess you can go on back.” I hustled back there before her supervisor could renege!

While changing, I overheard a comical conversation between a Hipster kid working electronics who apparently got his speedo in a wad because the dressing room attendant had taken a phone call for electronics and fed misinformation to an iPhone patron.

“Did you just tell someone we carry iPhone cases in colors besides black?” he

Continued on Page 3

demanded, while I untied my shoes and patted the baby to encourage her to hold the pacifier.

“Yeah,” she responded.

“Because we do.”

I removed suit #1 from the hanger.

“No, we don’t,” Hipster said. “Not lifeproof cases.

Did you tell her we carry lifeproof iPhone cases in colors?”

“Um…” she started, and I saw a spandex truth in her future, “No, because she didn’t ask about a lifeproof case. And we do carry iPhone cases in colors.”

Y’all, I tried on all eight of those suits, decided on two, left the dressing room, picked out two pairs of denim shorts to try on, and returned to the dressing room, only to find they were still arguing!

He was ticked to deal with an upset customer who had been told the wrong information and trekked up to Target in vain, and she was definitely not going to admit she had done anything wrong. It reminded me of living in my house with two teenage girls.

Anyway, I still cannot believe how differently clothes can fit even when labeled the same size. This is why I hate shopping — it takes forever to find a style I like in a size I like with a fit that flatters my shape.

But I hung in there and came out a winner. I’m just glad I wasn’t looking for any phone cases! So when the day arrived that I was medically cleared for swimming again, I awoke, nursed the baby, and donned my brand new size 14 full-coverage (but still cute) bathing suit and stepped outside to be greeted with unseasonably cool weather.

In the sixties.

Yeah, mid-August. In the Delta. And it’s 67 degrees.

“Well,” I thought, “If I braved the Target dressing room ten days postpartum, I can certainly swim in milder weather.”

So I dressed the baby in her itty-bitty teeeny-tiny swimsuit that was cuter than puppies and kittens playing together and hiked out to the pool.

It was so cold.

The miserably hot weather in June oppressed my third trimester. Now, no longer my own personal sauna, I need a little Delta heat.

August has betrayed me.

Plus, yesterday I saw a winter forecast that predicted “much higher than average snowfall” for this area.

Oh, goody.

I guess I’ll be headed back to Target next month to buy winter underwear, puffy coats, and snow boots for each of my six ambulatory kids so they can enjoy the much-higher-than-average snowfall winter.

Which means, like, four snows. Not exactly money well spent.

I’m just glad maternity didn’t change my shoe size.

Dorothy Wilson lives in Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all the adventures their seven children provide.