Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny…

…Old Navy leopard print bikini…Isn’t that how the song goes?  It SHOULD.  At the behest of my dear darling daughter (who may have just entrenched herself as my Current Favorite Child), I tried on a bikini this evening whilst shopping for more workout gear.  She is a fairly avid fan of both animal prints and bikinis and was quite enthusiastic to dress me.  I, however, was more hesitant.  Sensing my reluctance, the CFC said to me, in the sweetest and most melodious voice to reach my ears, “You have to wear one this year, Mom.  You can now.  Because of all that exercising you do.”  How could I refuse such a wonderful child?  Add in the fact that when I did my measurements this morning, my waist had gone in 1.5″ and it was a no-brainer.

CFC was right.  I looked gooooood.  Six pack abs.  An actual waist.  I very much wanted to take this suit home with me.  Alas, due to “all that exercising” I do, I actually was in dire need of new (smaller) workout clothing and the budget does not allow for both necessary and frivolous on the same day.  I hated to return the bikini to its home, but I relished the knowledge that not only did it fit, it made me look AH-mazing. 

Yes, I exercise to be strong and fit.  I love the feeling I get when I’m sweating through TurboFire and ready to bust through the walls with my energy.  I am uberproud that I now do push ups on my toes and run insane amounts of miles every weekend.

But I gotta own up.  I rather enjoy the outer evidence of all the hard work I’ve been putting in.  I can’t get away with running about town in a sports bra and compression shorts, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could.  When my new core catches my eye in the mirror, I can’t ignore the chemistry.  I love my new self.  A lot.  So much so that every now and then I swear I hear the first few bars of “Stayin’ Alive” when I walk through the living room.  My hips have an extra wiggle after a workout and I find myself lost in my biceps.  They say on average, we fall in love four times in our lives.  Well, I turned out to be one of those times for myself.  I am 99% sure Hubby is perfectly fine with that. 

After sizing myself up in that dressing room, it was incredibly easy to glide past the warm pretzel smell of Auntie Anne’s.  I cared nothing for the caramel bars lurking in Gertrude Hawk or the myriad chips and crunchy snacks I enountered when we stopped for groceries.  The only thing going through my mind was how I’m going back to Old Navy in two weeks and buying that damn bathing suit.

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