2. “Tagging in” would force me to make an unappealing choice: either I dig out the full-on maternity, I-just-swallowed-the-Great-Pumpkin two piece, which I’d anxiously already placed in storage; or I wrestle with the swimsuits I wore before I was pregnant, which will inevitably be stretched out to depressing proportions to accommodate my still-poochy, post-birth belly.
3. When I go with the second option, seeing myself in the mirror will regretfully cause me to have a Cathy moment – depressing in part because Cathy was/is such a crap-tacular comic strip. Ack!
4. Said Cathy moment will fuel my self-consciousness to such a degree that I’ll pull an old pair of shorts and a sheer, loose running shirt over the swimsuit. Yes, in my current, not-pregnant-but-not-yet-back-to-normal physical state, I’ve become that kid at the public pool who wears a t-shirt in the water.
5. Lily will playfully hold the hose directly on my stomach and on my backside, thereby making the accessory worn to absorb blood weigh 45 pounds and resemble an over-inflated raft between my legs. Good times.
(Author’s note: I did actually enjoy playing with Lily and the hose once I gave myself over to it. But you can understand my initial hesitation, yes?)