As I glance down at my soft, round thighs and fidget with my swim skirt, one thought dominates my mind: I really dislike public pools.
My daughter, Lily, frolics in the water like a carefree child, her laughter echoing through the air. Meanwhile, my husband, Jake, removes his shirt, briefly pokes at his pale stomach, shrugs dismissively, and dives in. I, however, remain anchored to my lounge chair, overwhelmed by the sight of my thighs glowing white in the sunlight, determined to stay hidden behind the large beach bag resting on my lap.
Watching Lily, I reminisce about the carefree days before adolescence when I would dart around in ruffled bikinis, spending entire summers splashing in the pool. I could open my eyes underwater, swim to the bottom, and launch myself out of the deep end to chase friends down the slide. The very thought of running around now in this braless swim dress? No thanks! I wrap myself in a towel, trying to shield my insecurities.
A group of fit, tanned moms strolls by in their stylish tankinis, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy. I might even resent them more than the loud teenage girls who shriek when boys tug at their bikini strings. Adjusting my straps and rolling my shoulders back only amplifies my awareness of my own lumpiness.
“Mom! Come swim!” Lily calls out, her joy infectious. Jake squints at me. “Aren’t you hot?” he asks. I shake my head, but I can’t miss the flicker of annoyance in his eyes and the disappointment on Lily’s face. How can I explain that my legs resemble marshmallows, that the swimsuit I thought was cute at home now feels like a ridiculous muumuu, or that I would trade it all for a pair of jeans and a proper bra?
Then I notice another mom—a regular mom—wearing a charming swim dress. She’s in the shallow end with her child, laughing and encouraging her to venture a little deeper, completely unfazed by the Tankini Moms or the noisy teens. She seems blissfully unaware of her own thighs, lost in the moment with her little one.
I glance down at my towel-covered body and feel silly—and hot. Why should I care about my so-called “egg carton thighs”? Who cares if those silly boys smirk at the girls? I’m missing the precious opportunity to teach Lily to swim underwater!
With a deep breath, I slowly rise, forcing myself to focus on my daughter instead of my jiggling insecurities, and make my way down the pool ladder.
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Summary
In this personal reflection, the author grapples with body image insecurities while observing her daughter enjoy the pool. Despite feeling overwhelmed by her appearance and the judgment of others, she ultimately decides to embrace the moment and join her child in the water, realizing that memories and experiences are far more important than superficial concerns.