I’ve come to terms with the extra 10 pounds I carry, and I embrace the fact that they allow me to indulge in cake. So, the sudden appearance of a gaggle of fit moms flaunting their thigh gaps by the pool certainly hasn’t shaken my confidence. Really!
Typically, the pool is our private sanctuary, so the unexpected influx of these women caught me off guard. But honestly, I’m not comparing my cellulite to their toned thighs, nor am I envious of their perfectly round breasts (seriously, do those even exist in real life?). Each of them seems to be defying gravity with their strapless bikinis.
It makes me wonder: Do their kids never pull down their tops? If I wore something like that, there would be a 100% chance one of my kids would yank it off in a fit of play. But, I digress. I’m not here to dwell on the magic behind their choices; I’m comfortably settled in my tankini, and I’m on a journey of self-acceptance.
One of the fit moms squats at the pool’s edge, slathering her fingers with sunblock as she calls for her little boy. “Come here, Carter! Come here, honey. One…two… Don’t make me get to three!” I can’t help but be mesmerized by her grace as she manages to apply sunscreen without slipping into the water or giving everyone a show. I thought women like her only existed in movies.
Yet, not a single part of this scenario makes me question my love for tankinis. Meanwhile, my 4-year-old, Lily, is dazzling me with her swimming skills—she’s mastered somersaults in the water! I grab my phone to capture the moment and send a video to her dad.
“Great job, Lily!” I cheer. “Now sit with the other kids while I put my phone away.”
As I quickly send the video, I glance back to see Lily treading water near the pool’s edge. I’m not concerned; she’s become quite the swimmer, and I’m just five feet away. But then I hear her say “help,” which I instructed her to use in emergencies.
I scan the area: kids are blocking my path to jump in, and I’d probably land on one of them if I tried. Time to take the steps instead. I hurry—when your child says “help,” you leap into action, right?
Everything seems fine until my foot slips on the first step, causing me to lose my balance like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel. My arms flail, and time slows, making this feel like a scene from a slow-motion movie. As I tumble into the pool, I worry about landing on someone else’s child while my tankini top rides up and my bottoms decide to invade my backside. In the chaos, a fleeting thought crosses my mind: This is why I avoid strapless bikinis.
I scrape my shin against the edge of a step and stub my toe on the concrete, but the pain pales in comparison to the impending embarrassment. I’m now submerged, legs flailing in an awkward position that defies physics. I wonder if the fit moms can see my unkempt leg hair.
After what feels like an eternity but is likely just a few seconds, I resurface, grabbing Lily’s arm while discreetly adjusting my bathing suit. I sit on the steps, gathering my composure as I scan the pool for any crying children I might have accidentally injured. But there’s Lily, looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
Not a single child is crying. Instead, the entire pool area has gone eerily silent. I notice everyone is either staring at me with wide eyes or pretending to be engrossed in their kid’s antics. Even the kids seem baffled, as if to say, “What just happened?”
Finally, one of the fit moms, whose bathing suit does have a strap, breaks the silence. “Are you…are you OK?”
(Definitely not.) “Um, I think I’m bleeding somewhere…but I’m fine?”
I pull my tankini back into place and adjust my wedgie as gracefully as possible. For the next half hour, I put on my best poker face, pretending that my embarrassing plunge into the pool never happened.
In the end, it was just a mortifying incident—no profound life lesson here. I fell into the pool and had a wardrobe malfunction in front of the fit mom squad. It was downright humiliating, and I’ll never live it down. When I’m 95 and on my deathbed, I can picture Lily asking me if I have any last words, and I’ll say, “Only ask for help if you truly need it, kiddo.” Trust me on this one.
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Summary:
In a lighthearted account, Jenna shares her comical and embarrassing experience of falling into a pool while surrounded by a group of fit moms. Despite her initial confidence, the incident leads to a moment of humiliation, reminding readers of the unpredictability of parenting moments. The narrative emphasizes self-acceptance and finding humor in life’s awkward situations.