It's now seven weeks since giving birth. I am not one of those women that just drop the extra weight due to breastfeeding. I can fit into my pre pregnancy clothes - I just can't do them up, so unless I want to start flashing my knickers (yes, the trusty briefs) to the world, I have to lose the fat, and exit Fat Town. Pronto!
You could say I had an ephiphany yesterday when I went looking for a one-piece swimsuit like a woman possessed. Noah starts swimming lessons this week, and I can't bare to flash too much flesh in my bikini for fear it will empty out the entire pool. Those lovely lady lumps have now transformed into not so lovely lady bumps in all the wrong places. Back to the epiphany. I again had grand notions that I'd find some fab swimsuit that would harness my new J-Lo proportions and ricochet me into pop-stardom, or really just let me go for a swim with my toddler without being shamed into wearing a t-shirt.
I paid David Jones a visit. They had a bad representation of brands, like a whole lot of leftovers just dumped onto a rack for those poor late-summer bloomers to pick through. No go.
Then I went to Target. Again - my dreaminess kicked in, I was destined to find a fab black halterneck one-piece bargain. Wrong again. This time it was all larger sizes bunged onto small racks so you could barely move a coathanger. Sorry - don't have time to rummage and match bits and pieces from one end of the store to the other.
Myer. Oh dear. Something went very, very wrong and very, very ugly here. The leftovers were like there was an explosion in a Hawaii 5-0 factory all hibiscus flowers and bad patterns - though I managed to find a cute to boot spotty one piece. I grabbed it, hopeful. In the change room my optimism was superceded by horror. Those changerooms are nasty places, aren't they? The breeding ground for eating disorders and low self-esteem. I couldn't get that swimsuit off fast enough - my love rolls were spilling out all over the shop, yowsers. I tore it off and got out of there as quick as I could. That swimsuit was cut for a teenager. I haven't been a teenager for too many years. It wasn't just different, it was wrong.
In K-Mart I ran into someone I knew. Mumbled about looking for some swimmers and then took off. Oh the misery. I found a plain black halter. Looked ok. I tried it on and have to say the cheapy was the best I had tried on all day. But then I saw the tag. I semi-froze. It was maternity-wear. Given that I have recently given birth means I am technically no longer required to wear maternity-wear. Wrong again! I returned it to the rack and got out.
Where are all the basic swimsuits that scoop up your curves and make you into a pool-side triumph? Am I the only woman that can't bear to front up to a change room only to have my self-esteem plummet to the bottom of the pool?
I want to look more killer Sports Illustrated and a little less killer whale. I want to look 'fierce'.
In times of crisis - seek help. So I sought Oprah's.
I've taken her tips, hopped online and am now awaiting some swimsuits so I can try them on without the fluoro lighting. Without the pressure. And without running into someone I know while I'm walking around with a maternity swimsuit in hand.