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The Babymoon, The Maternity Bathing Suit and Other Conundrums

Candy's Column

The Babymoon, The Maternity Bathing Suit and Other Conundrums

A number of friends have insisted that Mr. Candy and I indulge in a “babymoon.”  For those of you who, like me, never heard of a “babymoon,” it is a romantic getaway expectant parents take before the baby arrives and (literally) poops all over their freedom.  Initially, I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the idea, mostly because:  1)  We live in Los Angeles, which still feels like a nonstop vacation to this East Coast transplant; 2) My idea of a fun vay-cay typically involves fruity rum-based drinks, light on the fruit; and 3) I was embarrassed to say “babymoon,” a cheesy term surely invented by the travel industry eager to get its share of our already wide-open wallets.  (A thousand bucks for a crib?  Sure!  Another thousand for the All-Inclusive Babymoon Spa Package?  You got it!   The Brooklyn Bridge?  Where can I invest?!)

Also, it requires buying a maternity bathing suit.  This is most disturbing of all.

With less than 10 weeks to go before Baby Girl’s arrival, however, I must admit the idea of a babymoon has grown infinitely more appealing.  My independence is slipping away faster than Lindsay Lohan’s career.  Which is why I decided to book a night in an ocean-view room in La Jolla, a town outside of San Diego, for us this weekend.  And why I just returned from Target where I — *GULP* — bought a maternity tankini.

Pretty sure you understand why I had to whisper that particular piece of information.  Just TYPING it aged me at least ten years.

I surveyed the rack of maternity swimwear, a task that took me all of two seconds given there were four whole styles from which to choose.  The styles were quite lovely… if I happened to be my 80-year-old grandmother.   No, I’m just teasing.  Grandma has cooler taste than that.  Ruffles, loud prints and skirts — oh my!  Whatever happened to simple, solid-color swimsuits that flattered the figure?  These bathing suits would make me the most popular gal at the Palm Harbor Retirement Home pool.  Because I’d make the residents look young and unduly slim in comparison.

So I grabbed the least offensive one and tried it on.  To my surprise, it wasn’t totally awful.  I don’t think I put as much pressure on myself, body-wise, as I did P.B.B. (pre-baby bump).  Hey, I’m pregnant.  I’ve got a round belly.  So be it.  And if my suit happens to get me a spot on the Palm Harbor Water Shuffleboard Team, all the better.

Because sharing is caring, as I tell my kids. (Except my wine. Never my wine.)
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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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