Sink or Swim

I went swimsuit shopping the other day. Did I just hear a collective, pain-laced groan? I know, I know, but during pool days, I want to get Tessa deeper into the water than just a toe-dip. That requires more of me getting wet than just my hands, feet, and my butt on the side of the pool.

So, as if swimsuit shopping weren't bad enough, I have now realized through experience what makes it worse: nursing. Here's my story.

My sister-in-law told me about a particular store that carries tankinis that have longer tops to cover my striped tummy but that also contain the most important element in any swimsuit I must purchase from here on out: underwire for my floppy boobies. Those of you who have a modest (read: so small it's hard to tell if you're a girl or a boy) rack and want a larger one, be careful what you wish for. I've been "highly developed" since I was about 12, and never did a perk grace their growth. It was like they just came in downward. Strapping them in and lifting them up and keeping the underside from sweating has been the bane of my existence ever since.

Anyhoo, so now that I'm nursing, Sag Bags is my name, and containment is my game. Hence the underwire and Spanx-inspired fit. If I could get a water-friendly corset, I would. There were only two tops in this store (I'm not telling the name for reasons you'll read about later) that fit the bill, and there was so much fabric it couldn't just be balled up in my hand like swimsuits of yore. That's what I'm talking about. I took one to the fitting room, only to discover a quandary I had not yet had to face. How do I do this when the only time I take off my nursing pads is to take a shower? Should I attempt to try on this swimsuit bare-breasted and chance that they would stay dry for one minute? That idea got thrown out real fast when I remembered what these things are capable of, so the pads went into the swimsuit, much to the relief of any future customers, I'm sure.

The top looked as good as it could when there's such a sad mess to work with in the first place. I ended up buying it, but I wasn't going to wear it out of the store, so off it came. I was tying the halter neckline back onto the hanger (I always hang up clothes I try on the same way I found them, which is why I hate bra shopping, too) when I felt the all-too-familiar tingle of milk "coming in." I only had one more pull to make on the strap - did I have time to finish it before I had to cover up my hanging pendulums? Answer: no.

I dropped the top and the hanger as the walls of this particular fitting room got a nice little milk bath. In turning to grab my pads and bra, the stream marked everything along the way, including the bottoms of the suit I had just tried on and the mirror that made me realize how suddenly grateful I am for the option of plastic surgery. I quickly got my bra on while holding those bad boys to my chest, and giggled the entire time. Poor fitting room. Thank goodness I wasn't trying on anything made of silk - that would have made for an embarrassing encounter with the manager. "I don't want this, but I have to buy it because...this piece of clothing just got soaked with my boob juice." As it was, all I had to do was a quick swipe of my shirt sleeve across those swim bottoms and no one could tell what had just transpired. To my knowledge, the store doesn't have a "You Spray, You Pay" policy, but they might want to look into it.