Testing the Limits of Spandex

Yesterday my wonderful mom spent more than an hour outside a dressing room as I ransacked the local sporting goods store for that elusive swimsuit. Poor Mom got trapped in the unenviable position of giving honest opinions as I shoe-horned my Mr. Potato Head silhouette into more than two dozen suits.

“You don’t look THAT pregnant,” she said assuringly. “Hey, you can’t stop progress!”

I love you, mom. Thanks for always loving everything I write, and reassuring me that I look svelte when we both know that the pink elephant in the dressing room is, well, me.

As the reject pile reached knee-high, I found a contender: a solid one-piece Speedo. But how will it fit two months from now? Four? In maternity shops, dressing rooms come equipped with a strap-on bump, a prosthetic belly that gives you an approximate, lumpy idea of what you’ll look like in a few months. Not so at a sporting goods store named Dick’s. So I wadded up the contents of the reject pile and stuffed it in the suit.

Thank god for the miracle of Spandex.


July 21, 2007. Pregnancy.

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