Pool Panic

As I write the check to join our neighborhood pool, I am both excited and terrified; excited that I now join the ranks of women pulling their Red Rider wagons laden with pool toys and snacks down the road to the pool and terrified at putting on my bathing suit.

I was at the pool a few times last summer when my daughter was just six months old, and I didn’t care what I looked like. I had a six-month-old and an excuse for my extra padding. No one was looking at me anyway; I had a chubby cherub splashing about and what is cuter than that? But when Memorial Day arrives, I will be chasing a 16-month-old, and what is my excuse now? I really don’t want to be the “baby beluga” at the pool this summer, a nick name I earned being chubby and white every summer.

I looked around the pool last summer, and it was packed with hard bodies. Seriously ladies, are all those kids yours? Why is it that your boobs defy gravity and your stomach is so flat? I am confused and convinced that a few folks have Dr. Draper on speed dial. But I digress.

I have joined my office’s “Biggest Loser Challenge” and hope to be in better shape by June. I am confident enough to head to the pool with this extra weight or without it, but I’d like for my daughter to be rockin’ the rolls, not me. And I’d love to finally lose my super cool nick name in the process.