Summer Vacation Series Part II: Waging a war on the bikini

So here is the thing. I know that I may dry well be a prude. I know that this may offend some people. But… it is my opinion, and that is that. 

Last week, a blog post on Huffington Post and other areas of the Internet titled, “Moms, Put on That Swimsuit” was widely circulated on social media. 

I actually didn’t read the article until righter before I started this blog, even though I had already decided on this topic while I was on vacation earlier this month. 

While I 100% agree with the article, and whole-heartedly wish that every woman, mother or not, was comfortable in her own skin to run around and play with her children or just enjoy herself on the beach without the fear of judgement or anything else holding her back… I think there is a tasteful way to do so.  

So yes, mothers please suit up and frolic freely with your little ones, but let’s do so tastefully. 

And I don’t just mean this toward mothers. This blog is really about how inappropriate in general I find bathing suits for all women. 

Who invented the bikini? And what on earth were they thinking? On what planet did someone convince society that it was acceptable to parade around half-naked? What purpose does it serve? What is accomplished by essentially stripping down to our bare necessities for a bathing suit?

I mean, what normally would be reserved for the privacy of our own home, for the intimate moments between our soul mates, is flaunted in front of God and everyone. Image


I haven’t always been such a prude. And my newfound outlook on bathing suits is not due to my new mommy body. While I may not be in the tip-top shape I was pre-pregnancy, I am by no means ashamed of my body. I admit I have a distorted view on my body and think I am far larger and more out of shape than I should be… but in reality, my body size is probably average.  I have little left of my once flabby pregnancy tummy and being a mother has worked wonders on my breast, not to mention the sensual curves and actual hips that have sprung up, giving me the body of a woman. 

So it isn’t about that. Big, little, fat, small, tan, purple, red, whatever, size, color, shape, and whatever else isn’t the issue. Does no one else think bathing suits in general are just so inappropriate? I mean, if I saw a woman walking down the street in her bra and panties, I would certainly turn my head and whisper. Why would anyone want to show off that much skin to complete strangers? Why does being on a beach vs. on a public sidewalk make any difference at all?

All of a sudden a body of water makes it totally acceptable to strip down to next to nothing? I think not! 

More than anything, I just think it is weird. I get people want to get a good tan, but for what? You are never going to be in another situation outside of a bathing suit that makes it acceptable to flaunt that much skin! 

Since having a baby, I have decided to wear a one-piece swimsuit for the first time in my life. Not because I am ashamed of my body, but because I feel so awkward being in next to nothing around my son. I mean, if we were home, I wouldn’t walk around in front of him and as he gets older, him and his friends, in my bra and panties… why would I do it next to water? 

Even before having a baby, I grew up relatively skinny and in shape. I am 5’ 2’’ and before becoming pregnant, only weighed 125 lbs at my heaviest. I have never had a reason to worry about the appearance of my body. But even pre-Turner, I still would wear the bathing-shorts instead of panty bottoms, because I have always found it so weird to wear so little to cover my downstairs. Not to mention on a week-long vacation, keeping that area properly groomed was a nightmare and between the salt, sand, and having to shave every day, ugh, the horror. 

During vacation, I found that even the one-piece is more than I think I should be sharing in public. Because I am quite voluptuous, I felt like I was parading my chest around for the world to see, even though I was considerably covered up. 

I have always had that problem. Even this past vacation despite my most valiant attempt to dress conservative, I was plagued by the constant fear and worry that I was offending other people because my chest was front and center at all times. Not to mention the constant stares and gawks from strangers objectifying my body with their eyes. I didn’t ask for this. 

At one point in time, I made the observation that one of my suits resembled one of the little black dresses I would have worn out in college. How embarrassing. Not only was it once ok for me to dress like that, but even now, as an adult and a mother, I should be more covered up. I didn’t know any of those people. Why on earth would I want to show off more to them than I do nightly in front of Andrew when I dress in baggy shirts and shorts. 

And God knows it is not for comfort. By no means does any form of bathing suit keep sand out of places that even the light doesn’t shine. No to mention a bikini cuts into the crevasse of your body and actually causes physical pain. The straps around my neck hurt worse than an injury sustained in a minor car accident, and having those tiny strings pulled securely enough not to reveal even more of my jobs to the world calls for circulation hindering knots. 

It just makes no sense to me whatsoever. 

But then again, it may just be because motherhood has turned me into one big prude.

, SiteDart Author


Summer Vacation Series: A very public poop fiasco

So last week my family and I spent the entire week at the beach in Florida. It was a fabulous weekend. I have been putting off blogging about it because there are 9,000 things I want to write about. So instead of doing one drawn out post, I am gonna break it up into several different blogs. To get things started… here is the funniest moment of the week. (for me at least) 

Andrew’s First Public Poop Situation

We spent the second part of last week in Panama City Beach, Florida and we decided to go to the Shipwreck Island Water Park. By this time, it was already Friday, and Turner had spent plenty of time in his little swimmer diapers. From the very first day we put them on him, we found out that for some reason he LOVED to poop in them. 

It never failed. Sometimes, as soon as we took off the regular diaper and put the little swimmer on him he would just let it go. So by Friday, we knew it was coming and basically expected it. Whatever it is about the swimmers, they caused problems. 

So we had been at the park for a couple of hours. We were ready to go. Turner was fussy, we were all hungry, and Andrew had some stuff to do, so we were ready to pack it all up. On our last go around on the lazy river I noticed a hippo statue in the kiddie section of the park. Being obsessed with hippos, I knew I had to get a picture with it. Image

Before heading out of the park we stopped by the hippo. Turns out, it was a water drinking fountain in the kiddie section. It was not in a pool itself, but instead in an island area between play areas. I plopped Turner in the hippos mouth to snap a few photos. 

After I got enough to work with Andrew picked him up. That is when everything went downhill. Poop started to run down Turner’s legs. Not only do little swimmer diapers not hold in anything, the hippo’s mouth was a drinking fountain so he was in a small pool of water. And when you put a diaper full of poop in water, it is a full on disaster. 

After realizing that Turner had in fact went to the bathroom, Andrew flips out. With arms fully extended to get Turner away from his body, Andrew just starts to scream, “Oh my God, Oh my God.” 

Not only is there poop on Andrew’s side from where he had originally put Turner before realizing he was pooping, but when Andrew held Turner out, poop just began to plop onto the ground. That, paired with Andrew’s screams of pure terror and shock, we were started to get looks from those around us. Completely humiliating. 

Andrew froze. As if his feet were in quick sand and his body was an erected statue, he was frozen. He was not going anywhere and continued to scream and draw attention. I was trying to wash poop off of the teeth of the hippo from where Turner had been sitting when more poop was flopping on the ground, as which point I took my bare foot and tried to scoop the mess into the nearest drain. 

I pleaded with Andrew to walk toward the bathroom, which was a mere feet away, but due to his complete state of shock, he couldn’t. As much as I urged him to walk toward the bathroom, he was pleading with me to just go all the way across the park to get stuff to change Turner right then and there. 

Clearly this horrific tragedy had clouded his judgement and after a few more stern requests for Andrew to put one foot in front of the other, we made our way to the bathroom. 

After giving Andrew supplies in hopes of averting any future crisis, I found the closest park attendant and told him of the incident so it could be properly cleaned and that poor hippo’s mouth would be sanitized. 

After Turner was fresh and cleaned and we were headed for the exit, just as I was explained to a slightly calmer Andrew that it was a kiddie park, situations like that are sure to happen often, he stopped dead in his tracks once again and hollers for me to get him a wipe because he was “covered” in poop. While walking Andrew became aware that his shorts had been stained during the debacle and once again put his in the crossfires of public torment. 

All in all, it was hilarious. Andrew is Chef Diaper Changer in our home, and usually nothing makes him squirm. I guess the added pressures of public scrutiny threw him off his game. And although painful to experience, overall it was laughable and one of many unforgettable moments we endured last week.

(Now that you have read the entire article, please go back to the photo of Turner in the hippo’s mouth and zoom in. Take notice of Turner’s inside knee)

, SiteDart Author


Summer warning for new mothers

So I have started going to the tanning bed to prepare for our summer vacation at the beach next week. I know, I know, tanning beds are the devil. 

But when you have skin like mine, any amount of sun exposure can be deadly, so in order for me not to have to wear a blanket while we are at the beach, I wanted to get my skin ready. 

My skin is virtually see-through I am so pale, so I knew I was going to burn, even with minimal time in the bed. It was to be expected. 

But what I did not expect was while my skin burnt the anticipate amount, my newly born stretch marked were at third degree burn levels. It just didn’t cross my mind. And it should have. I should have known better. I mean, it is fresh skin. Skin that has never seen the light of day, literally. So after three trips to the tanning bed, I have blood red lines where my stretch marks used to be. 

So new mothers… beware. Take extra precaution if you have newly formed love lines from your sweet little miracle. 


My [reluctant] beef with Father’s Day

So I am having a really hard time. I have been struggling with something the last week or so, and all other avenues to deal have failed, so I have resorted to writing. Generally, writing is my first answer to any problem. Writing is always my solution. But this time, my struggle was private, and personal and I wanted to keep it to myself. But that is not working and I can feel it boiling and an attempt to avoid an eruption, I have to get it out. Image

Sunday is Father’s Day. It is the single most conflicting day of the year for me. 

On one hand, I have a day to celebrate the most incredible Father I could have ever prayed for for my son. Andrew is a true gem. I have not been shy about expressing how incredible of a father, friend, man, and companion Andrew is. He has earned the right to be celebrated this coming Sunday. 

He has gone above and beyond the call of Father’s. He is involved in every aspect of Turner’s life. He feeds him, gives him baths, puts him to bed, reads to him, changes more poops diapers than I do, and does it all without being asked and with a smile on his face because he looks at fatherhood as a privilege. God has honestly blessed me with the perfect partner in parenthood and the perfect father for my son. 

Father’s Day should be his day. It should be a joyous day for me to shower him in love and affection. For me to let him put his feet up, cook him a full breakfast, lunch and dinner. Let him watch every sports game that is scheduled, and obey his every demand. It is his day. I want it to be his day and I want to make it 100% about him. 

But I can’t. 

And the fact that I can’t and quite frankly, don’t want to, has been eating away at me. Because while I want to be carefree and ever attentive to Andrew’s every desire this coming Sunday, I am selfish. And the only thing I have been able to think about it how this will be the second Father’s Day that my family will have to spend without my dad. Image

God I miss him. It just is not fair. He should be here. I should have my dad to celebrate. I should get to shower my dad with all things “#1 Grandpa.” But I don’t get to because cancer decided to rip him from our lives. Cancer stole my Father’s Day. So I bitter. I am very, very bitter. 

Last year was different. It was Andrew’s First Father’s Day, and Turner had only been in our lives for a few weeks. My dad died at the beginning of April, a month before Turner was born. Father’s Day followed shortly after. My dad’s death had not even really set in, as I was still caught up in the whirlwind of becoming a new parent. 

But this year it hurts. And it hurts way worse. Turner is more alert and knows people. I want to to be able to take him to my dad’s house dressed in a matching grandpa and grandson shirt. But not only do I not get to do that, Turner will never, ever get to meet his grandfather. And it sucks. It sucks so much. 

All I want to do this Sunday is go to my dad’s grave and sit. I want to spend all day there. I want to go to church that morning and pray for God to give me the strength to get through the day and then go to my dad’s grave and sit. 

But I can’t do that because it is not fair to Andrew. It is selfish. Andrew deserves his day. I can’t make it about me and missing my dad. My family’s schedule is very hectic, and when my family can meet to go to my dad’s grave together, Andrew and I can’t be there. And really we shouldn’t.  Sunday should be about Andrew. I know that it should. I want it to be. 

But I also want to be the little girl who misses her dad so bad that her heart breaks to pieces every moment of every day. 

Father’s Day has come to be my least favorite holiday all year long. Which is so not fair to Andrew. So not only do I feel awful and sad because I miss my dad, and awful and sad because Turner will never get to celebrate with his grandpa, but then I feel even worse and awful and bad because I am being selfish toward Andrew. 

And with all of those feelings. All of those emotions and thoughts, the one thing that keeps me sane and able to deal is convincing myself that God gave me Turner, and gave me Andrew as my strength to be able to have something else to celebrate this Sunday. So I should be happy and thankful, not bitter and heartbroken. 

I am just not ready to be over it. I am just not ready to not break into tears at random moments at the thought of my dad. I am not ready to not change the radio station whenever a Lynyrd Skynyrd song comes on. I am just not ready yet.

, SiteDart Author


Looking for some bath time advice

Bath time is a constant struggle with Turner. 

I thought we had the problem solved. When he was still a newborn, Turner hated baths. He would scream bloody murder. But as he got older, he warmed up to the idea. We go thin some bath toys, and all was right with the world. Or so we thought. 


Then the accident happened. OK, I am just being dramatic. Nothing happened. We got Turner an outside pool and put him in it one day and he screamed as if we had put him in a pot of grease. The water was not even cold. We actually warmed up water for the pool for him. 

Now, every bath time is once again a fight. He screams and kicks when he knows that is where he is headed. Once in the tub, he REFUSES to sit down and just reaches for me or Andrew to pick him up and rescue the poor child from his inevitable demise. 

Last night I thought we had progress. I put on my bathing suit and got in the bath tup with him. I tried to make it fun. We added some new toys that he got for his birthday and I played for him. That only worked long enough for Turner to realize that he was in fact in the bath tub and screamed until his daddy came to his aide. 

Later this month we are going to Florida for a week. We want to take Turner to the water park and enjoy the lazy river and the wave pool and the kids fun stuff, but not with that attitude! Turner has been in a pool before, and he loved it. But that was before this resurfaced fear of water and the tub appeared. 

Any suggestions? Advice? Comments? We are lost and want to make bath time, fun time for our little prince! 


I have a 1 year old!

It officially happened. 

Turner is officially 1 year old. 

I took Friday (his birthday) off of work to spend the say with him and it was wonderful. I got to snuggle him all day long while running around and getting all the last minute things I needed done for his birthday, which was Saturday. 


Turner’s birthday part was wonderful. It was filled with wonderful friends and family who love Turner just as much as Andrew and I do. Turner had a blast and so did everyone else who came. The dinosaur theme was a big hit too. We asked our family and friends to consider making a donation to a local children’s shelter instead of giving Turner gifts, and although some people couldn’t resist showering Turner with presents for his birthday, we still got an awesome donation collection to take to KIDS Place later this week. 


Andrew and I woke up bright and early Saturday morning. The part was not event supposed to start until 11:30 a.m., but that didn’t stop us from getting up before 7 a.m. We scrambled most of the morning with one thing going wrong or the other. Andrew forgot the keys to the building at home, the helium tank for the balloons was out and needed to be replaced, the bounce house couldn’t get enough power and wouldn’t fully inflate, you know the basic run of the mill problems everyone has when they want something to be perfect. 


Despite a few hiccups and the fact that I was still scrambling with my mother at nearly noon to finish decorating, I think everything went really well. My fear of not having enough food was of course crushed when we had a ton left over. But I would much rather go home with bags of hot dog buns then experience the humiliation of not having one for someone. 


Now if we could just reorganize Turner’s bedroom to accommodate all of his new toys and play things, we would be set! 

At 22 lbs 14 oz and 30 inches tall, with a whopping 4 teeth, Turner is a beautiful, perfect, healthily 1 year old!