Feel'n Fly at Thirty Four

To the all-American woman, there is no season that holds greater inner turmoil than bathing suit season. You see the hopeful shoppers picking through the racks at department stores. They hold up this top or eye those bottoms. Some brave souls go for the skimpy strings while those desiring more coverage fight over the bathing dresses. You can't pay enough for complete and total coverage! No skin left behind! Every year summer makes its appearance and every year we panic over bathing suit shopping. The parade of long faces exiting the fitting room says it all...we are in a game we cannot win.

My disciplined friends begin cutting the carbs and adding more miles to the treadmill early in the winter. Come to think of it, my disciplined friends are the ones doing this year round. When the suits hit the front of the store at Target in February, my girls ain't scared. They can find the perfect fit on the first trip. Respect.

Then there are the rest of us. The ostriches. We stick our heads in the sand for as long as possible. Or until we realize that last year's suit is all kinds of stretched out and is sporting the saggy butt. We cannot enter a brand new summer season with saggy butt. We may have enjoyed infinity more Oreo's than our disciplined gal-pals, but we still have our pride! The clock is tick'n and the stores will have winter coats on the rack if we don't hop to it. So into the swim wear section we pour in droves. To the opposite sex, this rush can only look like a herd of antelope running from an impending predator. Wide eyes scream survival. This is what I've been doing for years since having kids...surviving the summer.

And then my thirty fourth birthday rolled around! What makes thirty four so special? Nothing! That's what I was so excited about! I hadn't hit a milestone year where I should have accomplished this goal or snagged that opportunity. I didn't need to lose a bunch of weight for some big birthday party where I'd prove to everyone that I'm rock'n my older age. Hush that mess. Thirty four, in my eyes, seemed like a great year to quietly look at who I was becoming and what I wanted. You see, you get into your thirties and, if you've done it right, you finally begin to settle into who you are. You get more comfortable in your own skin...even if that skin has been sagged and stretched from a couple of large-headed babies. It's yours and it just feels right. You're also far more aware of how you're wired and what drives you. It took me over thirty years to figure out that big crowds and packed parties aren't my scene. I can confidently say that I'm not missing out when I choose, instead, to stay home with a new book or spend some time writing. I'm in my happy place, man. I understand me far more now than I did ten years ago and this seemed as good a time as any to figure out what I'd like for my new year.

This year I decided that I wanted a tattoo...just a little something to honor my family. I found a design on Pinterest (I never claimed to be a creative thirty four year old) and found myself in a tattoo parlor not forty eight hours later. (I am, however, an impulsive thirty four year old.) It felt really freeing to think, "Yep, this is permanent. Will I feel differently about my tattoo in ten years? I don't know, but I'm at peace with that. Does it mean something to me? Absolutely." Case closed. I didn't need to spend a lot of time thinking on it. I was turning thirty four, remember? Then I pushed the envelope just a bit further. I found myself telling one of my best friends, "That's it. I'm getting a two piece bathing suit this year. I can't take any more summers in a mom suit." I'd recently been inspired by a Target commercial which showed girls of all shapes and sizes flouncing around in bathing suits of equal shapes and sizes. I was glued to the bustier, curvier girl who was getting down in an adorable little bikini. She looked so cute and happy! Tactical advertising, you did your job. I AM the busty, curvy girl and now I knew I could wear a bathing suit that didn't look like something straight out of the maternity section. (You like how I made it sound like I was going to think about deep stuff on this birthday? Gotcha! Tattoos and toss'n the tankini! Man, there's my title!)

Last week I did it. I grabbed a little black and white number, shamelessly texted a picture of myself to a few friends for solidarity's sake, and then walked myself out proudly onto the pool deck. It was the craziest thing, too. The heavens didn't shudder, no faces melted, not one scream of horror! It was a normal pool-side day. I was free of all that fabric I assumed I was supposed to wear because I'd had babies and am not anywhere close to a size six. I won't lie. Ten-years-ago-me might have caught sight of two-piece-me and raised an eyebrow. I know I'm wearing this body differently and my upper half looks like one big frown face when I'm naked. But here's the other thing... in these thirty-four years, I've lived, messed up, learned a whole heck of a lot and am able to celebrate this most recent birthday knowing I've become a much nicer person! That beats out all the tattoos and two-pieces money can buy! (Somewhere my mother is screaming.) But seriously ladies, take a breather and kick back, celebrate where you've been, who you are, and show yourself a little love. Don't wait for the milestones!