Inspired by I know not what, I signed up on Monday afternoon for a prenatal water aerobics class. This led to much panic, as the class started on Tuesday night and I had no maternity bathing suit and no free time on Tuesday to purchase one. So Monday night, after work, and after driving an hour and a half to Cranville,TX to pick up my sister-in law Lucy, I headed to a mall to procure myself something suitable to wear while splashing around in a public pool.
I headed straight for the supplier of most of my wardrobe these days, Mary's Maternity, and chose a suit from their selection of about 2 pathetic little remainders hanging forlornly on the rack. It wasn't too hideous (so I thought)...it's blue and white gingham, and the top is a sassy little flouncy thing, with a support shelf and pouch...
Let me help you to imagine the desirable scene
I was at the maternity shop mentioned above, and I went into a dressing room alone to change into my swimmers. The first thing I tried to hoist on was my strapless sports support bra.
Yes, you heard me correctly. Some woman at a store (probably on commission) told me that a sports support bra would be appropriate for my costume. So she selected for me the world's largest bra, took me in the back, and forced rolled it over my head and on to me .
"ADJUST YOUR BREASTS" she bellowed, and I did. Quickly.
So now I was all sassy with the appropriate undergarment, so I took the swimsuit out of its bag and pondered how to get it around my bulbous stomach and all hoisted up around my shoulders...by myself.
Right.
After Lucy helped me into the bra (in a moment of sister-in-law bonding the likes of which we will not see again, I hope to God), I took off my pants. Whoops. I forgot to bring my industrial strength underwear, so my extra fat/baby part that was trying to creep out of my panties was everywhere. Needless to say with my trousers off and no corset, the knickers did nothing to hold in my bottom and stomach, so I took them off and I waddled across the dressing room in a most uncomfortable state, to where the swimsuit was hanging. Hoping that I could shoe horn my way into it and allow the support panel and pouch to do their work.
By this point I was sweating, my hair was hanging in my face, and I faced a struggle in getting the suit up over my middle, my lower tummy in the pouch as far as it would go. Trying not to fall out of the suit , as it was large and billowing on the bottom, tight across the middle, and the straps are falling off my shoulders,(thank God for the support bra).
It was at that moment that I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I had to throw my hands over my mouth to muffle my scream.
I looked like a wild animal.
Hair matted and damp. Flushed face. Support bra squeezing my boobs into a mass of cleavage flesh. Innertube of a stomach protruding from the sides. Naked, pasty legs. A wild look in my eyes.
"You," I told my reflection, "Are a rock star."
So I waddled into the pool at the health club on Tuesday night wearing my Maternity special, noting that even the old people in the therapy pool couldn't look me in the eye, so hideous a picture did I paint in that damnable frock. The instructor shepherded me over to sit at the edge of the pool, and I watched my pregnant sisters file in for class.
There were six of us. Six out of nineteen of us in that cheap, piece-of-shit bathing suit from Mary's Maternity. Six assholes in festive blue gingham with a flouncy ruffle and SPANKIES, and thirteen women in sedate, grown-up dark tank suits.
I couldn't even look up.
I enjoyed the class heartily, though, as we all know that I am a creature of the water, and I was only mildly shocked when the instructor began to give us commands that led me to believe that she wanted me to exercise.
The hour passed happily with all of us bouncing up and down and kicking and running and paddling, but when I went to climb out I was horrified that somehow, during the hour I spent in the pool, two Volkswagens had become tethered to my ankles. I paused in my ascent and looked behind me in horror, wondering if anyone else was noticing my sudden case of clubfeet.
"You feel a lot heavier on land, don't you?" the instructor said, offering me a hand. "That's normal."
It only took a few minutes of lurching around the pool deck before I could point myself in the direction of the locker room without looking completely shitfaced.