To the Land of Bikini and Back

Whoa! It's been two weeks since I've posted here; is the world ending? Was I swallowed up by a giant sea squid or imprisoned for being way too brash? Better question: have you missed me and my weekly blabber gabber I send out to the Never-Neverlands of the cyber world?

My crazy, happy, beautiful brood.

Well, I missed you, and I want you to know I didn't abandon my post here. I've just been soaking up some rays at the Outer Banks, which was a much-needed respite from the daily grind. Change is always a good thing, particularly when the days are so stock-full of errands and appointments you forget when the week started and when it ended.

Don't think, though, I was there purely for fun and play. You see, I was in the trenches, my friends. I was getting down and dirty and sandy (and a little bit salty, I must say) on the very frontlines of a simmering battle between what should be and what is. I was a torch-bearing, ass-kickin' rebel leading the charge in the Bikini Revolution.

And, yes, yes, YES!, I donned my very first bikini in twelve years. Can I get a Whoop! Whoop!

Sadly, prior to my recent bikini phenomenon, I had only modeled a two-piece twice in my entire life. The first time really doesn't count as I was about three years old. The second time I was in college and on a very private beach with my younger brother, Mark, who I have to say was my champion that trip and made me feel like I could pull it off. I never thanked him for that, but looking back, I really appreciated his unwavering confidence in me because I certainly had not found mine yet.

Chillin' on the shore with my sexy man.

Fast forward roughly 12 years, and here I am, a 30-year-old mother of three with a size 8 body (still under toning construction, I might add) and the pouchy remnants of three c-sections and perhaps a few more dimpled parts than I'd had in college...and of course, my crowning glory, my boobs, which have endured three booby feeders, the third of which is still clinging on like a monkey high on ripe bananas. You do the math and figure how that equates to major, jaw-dropping droopage.

The point I'm making, though a little roughly, is I am not perfect and definitely not a poster girl for society's ideal bikini bod. Really, though, most women will never meet society's expectations of what we should look like, which is why it is so important for me to stand up for the average woman (Who is not a size 2, by the way! Didn't you ever notice the only sizes left on the racks are size 2 and extra small?)

Regardless of my bikini anxiety, I had committed to wearing a bikini this summer, and I was not backing out of my promise. The truth is I needed to overcome my fear of the two-piece in order to fully accept my body the way it is and to be comfortable in my own skin. And, I wanted to do more than run my mouth about how we as strong, independent women need to stand up to society and say "enough!" I needed to take some action. So what if I am only one woman and one bikini. Perhaps I influenced some other women on the beach last week to take the plunge, embrace their curves and flaunt some skin. I mean, come on, if I can do it, anyone can.

Look, I have four legs!
You know you love my meaty
drumsticks, right?

So, I packed in my suitcase two bikinis, and I added my leftover bikini from 12 years ago to my supply just for good measure. I packed no other swimwear other than a rash guard in case the kids wanted to ride on my back in the pool (Irish skin, man. I burn like a mother!). I gave myself no outs, no excuses and nowhere to run except the naked road. And, my husband had already put the brakes on that particular avenue. Such a prude, Rick. Such a prude.

I have to tell you, I was extremely self conscious the first day at the beach. No lie. I had a brief moment where I set foot on the sand in my new bikini, and I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it so deep no one could see the monstrosity underneath, and I planned to wait right there, snug in my little hole until Rick brought me a cover up. I swear I felt like every eyeball on the beach was trained on my not-so-perfect body, and every mouth attached to that eyeball was either laughing or cringing in a not-so-encouraging manner. I felt like the carnival freak show had come to town, and I was its opening act.

The money shot.
See...not the ideal, but damn it
was nice to feel free! 

Five seconds later...my little self-conscious girl moment had passed, and I no longer gave a shit. I raised my chin, walked out onto that beach and strutted my stuff in front of the entire Corolla population. Take THAT, society! And, the funny thing is, once I got passed those first few moments before I took the plunge into the land of bikini, I felt like a new woman...liberated and strong, confident and sexy, and I really just didn't care what anyone thought. I was comfortable; I was happy; I felt amazing; and in that moment of what the New York Times called the "come-to-Jesus" moment, I became the "good-attitude girl" and fell head over heels in love with my bikini.

For those of you snickering right now and thinking, good for you, Mary, but you won't catch me in a bikini this summer, here's the cold, hard truth.

My girl in her bitsy bikini.
Totally too big for her, but hey,
she's got time.

No one was looking at me. No one cared. I had entered the mecca of the bikini universe, and I was just one more semi-naked body in a sea of self-loving women.

Apparently, I am a little late to join ranks in the Bikini Revolution. It's been going on right under my nose, and I never sniffed it out. There were bikini babes of all shapes, sizes and ages running around the beach that week, and no one seemed to care what was hanging out or in some cases, not hanging out of their two piece. Grandmas, mommies, teens and even little girls rocked bikinis...on the beaches, at the pools, up and down the streets and even in the grocery store. It was like women's liberation had laid claim to the Outer Banks, and these women were going to do what they wanted to do whether or not they fit the ideal stereotype of the bikini bod.

Needless to say, I relished in it. I drank up the plethora of female confidence like a frosty margarita on a steaming hot day. It was refreshing. It was beautiful. It was heaven, and I took full advantage and cloud surfed this wave for the entire week and literally LIVED in my bikini.

So, there you have it. I followed through on my promise, and I overcame my fear of the dreaded bikini season. And, you know what, it wasn't so bad after all. I hope my little Emma appreciates what I did for her, and in the process, what I did for myself.

Rock on, ladies. The summer is just starting, and we have a looonnggg bikini season ahead of us. Saddle up, put on your big girl panties, and take the plunge into what may be uncharted waters for you...just make sure you've got that hot, sexy bikini on when you ride your first wave.
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Got bikini on the brain? Read more articles about this topic on my Fresh Press page.

The Bikini Revolution

The end of May and the first official 90-degree day signals only one thing...the inevitable approach of summer and the horrifying return of swimsuit season. I think every woman no matter how tiny their body may be has some sort of anxiety at the thought of donning a swimsuit in public. In fact, there has been many a time in my life when I have dreaded putting on a swimsuit in private. However, the truth is we can't show up at the pool or the beach dressed from head to toe in a moo-moo. It's just not practical. So, every year women either embark on the daunting task of finding a new, flattering swimsuit that hides what they consider their body's flaws, or they dust off their go-to swimsuit. You know, the one in the bottom of your drawer that you've worn so many years in a row that you are at least immune to its inability to hide everything from the world.

A few years ago, I went swimsuit shopping with a friend. It was supposed to be fun, but honestly, as the day progressed, it quickly became mission impossible. Our goal was to find cute swimsuits that didn't make us look like complete whales. We tried high-end department stores, low-end retail stores and every type of store in between. We even tried specialty swimsuit stores that promised a perfect fit for every body despite displaying nothing but string bikinis on size 0, breast-implanted mannequins in the front windows. And, in the end, we were no happier than when we started despite having found what could only be called a suitable suit, a basic black tankini with a matching...ahem...mommy skirt. Sigh.

Now, let me just take a moment to say one thing about the mommy skirt. It doesn't hide anything! Seriously, I wore it once, and I was more embarrassed in that skirt than in any other swimsuit I have ever worn in my life. Not only did it fail to distract the world from my ass or my thighs, but I felt like it screamed "insecure woman approaching" from a mile away. So, needless to say, it's been gathering dust on the top shelf of my closet since then. Double sigh.

And, forget about the one-piece suits. Who wears those anymore? It's all about the tankini or the bikini, and frankly, it is quite clear most women opt for the tankini. It's part bikini, right, and therefore a happy compromise?

As far as I'm concerned there is no good solution to the swimsuit problem. Unfortunately, the problem is not the swimsuit, it's me. And, I can't shop around for another me, so I need to appreciate what I've got going here. I need to erase years upon years of brainwashing. Women are told their whole lives what they should look like, and if they don't meet those standards they are not perfect; they are not beautiful; and they should definitely not be caught dead in a bikini. I admit it. I've bought into that mindset. I'm a perfect example of a woman who is not the "ideal" and who has followed the rules. I don't wear bikinis; I buy the type of swimwear designed to "flatter my figure"; and, well, I'm ashamed to say I find myself cringing when I see a larger woman walking around in a bikini. It's like a reflex, and I can hear myself wondering why that woman left the house dressed like that. That's the correct and responsible reaction, right?

Wrong.

There is nothing right about the way women are told to feel about their bodies. There is nothing right about women criticizing other women for having the confidence to break the cycle and wear a bikini when they are clearly not a size 2 model. There is nothing right about settling for something less than what you want simply because it's the safe choice. The truth is no two bodies are alike, and therefore, how can there exist a standard perfect body type?

A week or so ago, I was talking to my very pregnant and very beautiful friend who is due June 7. She has a gorgeous body, long and lean and toned in all the right places. And, I jokingly asked her if she had gone Hollywood at the beach and sported a bikini to show off her beautiful pregnant belly. I was shocked to hear she never wears a bikini because she doesn't think she can.

In that moment, I realized we were in desperate need of an intervention. It is time for women to stand up, band together and fight against decades of brainwashing. It's time to appreciate who we are and what we look like. It's time for a bikini revolution.

And, so I shall be the first to take arms.

The next time I see a confident, strong woman rockin' a bikini, I am going to praise her good judgment. And, when I hit the beach in June, I will be joining her.

THE bikini. Obviously, I won't look like this in it, but
I will still rock it in my own awesome way.

That's right! I am going to sport a bikini this summer, all size 8 of me. Take THAT, society! I am going to show my daughter it's okay to be comfortable in your own skin. I am going to prove to her, by bikini, that it is mission possible to love yourself just the way you are.

And, maybe, just maybe if another woman in a tankini sees me walking around the beach in a bikini, then she might feel confident enough to try it out too. I mean, seriously, if I can do it, anyone can. That is how a revolution starts, right? One bikini at a time.

So, I have to ask, are you ready to join the revolution? Well, if you're not quite there yet, then at least give me a bit of a smile, instead of the textbook cringe, when you see me rockin' my bikini this summer. It may just help me get through one of the hardest challenges I've ever faced but perhaps one of the most important lessons I will ever learn...how to appreciate what I've got instead of trying to hide it.