I learned the hard way recently that swim diapers do not actually contain anything except for poop.
And frankly, this was a surprise for me.
Did you know that if you dress a toddler in a swim diaper and bathing suit and they, say, pee, while you are holding them on your hip to carry them out to the car, that it will all soak directly into your bikini coverup?(insert other optional clothing into previous statement)
But hey, in a pinch, a wet spot on a person wearing an actual bathing suit is easily ignored. Especially if one is a) wearing a suit b) is legitimately wet and c) disguising it with an adorable baby.
I innocently donned my new bikini and took the kids to the pool alone. How could this be a bad idea? I’m pretty sure it was the best idea ever. At the time….
We arrived, dropped our bag and hit the pool with all the million camp kids. Vince was like some sort of surfer god and had a million girls staring at him. A MILLION. No exaggeration. They were ogling him.
We all splashed, kicked, jumped and just had the best time.
And then suddenly, while I was lounging in the shallow end with Eleanor, watching her kick her little chubby thighs in delight while Vince hung all over me as he leapt and kicked, I felt a sudden influx of cool water. And felt something flutter on a very personal area of my body.
And that something? It was my top. Moving rather freely against my torso as if it was not actually attached.
Hey guess what! It wasn’t!
And just as I made that realization, I may have flashed a boob. Accidentally. To the lifeguards. Maybe. Or camp kids. Or the whole entire pool. Just perhaps though. And maybe just for a fleeting second, as my hand grabbed those dangling straps as fast as… As fast as a… Well it was fast.
Also fast was my decision on how to deal with the the fact that I was alone at the pool with two kids.
Can’t put Eleanor down on the pool deck to deal with straps, all she wants to do is walk aimlessly everywhere. Can’t hand her to a lifeguard because a) they were WAY over there and b) no. And so surprise option 3?
Well. That would be pin Baby Girl between my thighs for 10 seconds while I speed tie my top back on. Maybe it was 5 seconds. Actually 2. 2 legit seconds.
And so there I was, sitting on the stairs in the shallow end, with Eleanor flailing (pinned) between my knees, while I harnessed my chest and ignored Vincent’s whines to swim. I really tried to not shout out things like “Hold on baby! Mummy’s boobs are showing!”
It was kind of like riding a raging bull and getting thrown off. And I really mean, that’s what it felt like to trap Eleanor between my legs to deal with my top. She flailed like an alien who recently lost her head while I managed this problem.
Party on Garth. Man.
Knots were pointed out after this transpired as being a ‘solution’. Which makes complete sense. In hindsight. Mostly I am going to admire my conviction. Mostly just chant my personal mantra ofBe Awesome.
Whatevs doubters, I am superwoman and totally prevailed. Top on, kids swam, everyone tired, dog didn’t poop in house, didn’t (technically) flash anyone equals the most enormous win ever.