Suiting Up

Act I

The scene: My bedroom, last week. 20 weeks post-partum. Trying on ALL my old swimsuits, in preparation for our Hawaii trip (for some reason I never seem to throw old suits away).

I try my lone one-piece. Not too bad. Honestly, a lot better than I expected (and wow -- I finally fill out the top -- baby-bearing has its privileges!).

On to the tankini (very modest, full coverage two-piece). Okay... this is not that bad either... do I dare? Do I really?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath and grab the bikini. My flat tummy used to be one of my better features. Open one eye, then the other. Dare to let out the breath. It's... workable. Definitely looking a little, well, stretched -- but that's to be expected. Couple of stretch marks on my sides. Feeling pretty good, actually!

Relieved, I sit down on the side of the bed. Oh, God. Flabby skin settles around the top of the bikini bottom -- where did it all come from? Stretch marks shimmer up at me. The faint-but-not-gone linea negra cuts the jelly roll into two jiggly half-tummies.

The lesson: if you must wear a bikini after childbirth... NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, SIT DOWN!

Act II

Scene: The swimsuit store, the mall, today. Desperately trying on every full-coverage one-piece in stock (and it's November on the East Coast, so the pickings are slim... so to speak).

The boobies still look great -- HUGE, I must admit. Unfortunately, I'd use the same word to describe my derriere. And it does not look so great. Hanging low. I curse the misogynist who created the three-panel dressing-room mirror. Fluorescent lights to boot -- Lord have mercy.

I try on my old size 8... then 10s... I end up buying a size 12 one-piece, plenty of fabric. It's brown. It's safe. It's invisible, actually.

But I think I'm going to bring the bikini too... just in case I get up the courage... or in case I go somewhere where I'm guaranteed not to have to sit down.

That's that

The position has been filled. I feel both disappointed and relieved. Sometimes I guess it's good when fate makes a decision for you. Takes the burden off me, anyway.

Reality sets in

So, the other day when L. was taking a completely uncharacteristically long nap, I found myself for the first time in a long time with nothing to do. Okay, let's be honest: with nothing to do that I WANTED to do.

I decided to look at the job listings in CA, where I am from. Where I want to return. Usually this exercise just serves to reinforce how little I want to go back to work (though almost surely will have to, if we want to avoid living in a shack).

But on this day, I was scrolling down, rejecting jobs in my head... and there it was. My perfect job. A job I am perfectly qualified for, an organization that should -- if the listing is indeed what it appears -- be ready to kill to hire me, in the city in which I wish to live, etc. etc. etc.

God, I don't know how to feel. A part of me wants it because I have been looking for it, waiting for it, for so long now. And here it finally is. At the same time, the prospect of leaving my darling amazing baby, and my little mommy cocoon, makes me feel physically sick.

As my mentors and my husband pointed out, there's no point in agonizing over a job that hasn't even been offered to me yet. Maybe they have a strong internal candidate. Maybe it's a stale posting. Maybe the people are stupid, or mean. Maybe they wouldn't be willing to wait until March (and I am not willing to go back to work/relocate until then, for a host of reasons too complex and boring to recount). Maybe I am not as perfect for it as I think, and they won't want me.

So, I guess I will apply, see if it comes my way, and then decide. I suppose this would be a good dilemma to have... so we will see.

Wish me luck -- whatever that means in this situation!