camping hurt my feelings

it did. i wish it wasn’t true but camping in 40 + degree heat with an almost 3 year old, a bursting through the skin baby belly, a tent, and little shade was not a good move. this experiment in internal strength was ONLY made bearable because of the delight i know moo was experiencing and the full assist of mucho excellente husband type and equally darling grandparent types.

otherwise, i was an eff’n hot mess of a beast who probably shouldn’t have been allowed to cross the border into the depths of family fun (read: endurance test) we had embarked on. really. who goes camping at 30 weeks pregnant in the first place? and then, to the desert? fools do, and a fool i am.

to make matters worse, when you are camping near a lake in the scorching heat, swimming is the activity of choice. ever seen my fat ass in a bathing suit? likely not, for good reason. but, because i apparently lack insight and have compromised judgement i thought that there was no time like the present to squeeze my over sized belly and 45 pounds of since conception weight gain into a little number for the public’s viewing pleasure. the good news is, my elephant like edematous ankles countered some of the top-heavy appearance and i may have achieved something bordering on proportionate disgusto, if nothing else.

did i mention the heat rash? eff yes my dear friends. now, thighs can be expected, this haunts anybody in said heat and swim wear who is not pre-pubescent or super duper skinny. this i can take, even without a sense of personal failure. the under arms, however, are over the top. how is it that my arms have become so deconditioned that they now brush against my ample (generous term for obscene) bosom and that this mismatch in skin and moisture created a feverish and sensitive pseudo burn up my inner arm? fack.

speaking of burns, the fact that i have been queen sensitivo since pregnancy number 1 and now develop welts on my face should anything but one single line of overpriced chemical magic come into contact was trying enough. but, when in the sun, sunscreen is recommended. and, my freaky skin + sunscreen = awesome welts intensifying and becoming flaming blemishes of what could understandably be mistaken for flesh eating disease.

full disclosure, this has been a challenge i have not managed to weather with any grace. it’s hard to have your skin, on your face, swell and hurt and make you look worse than you already do. end pity party.

point is, i finally thought i was safe when said overpriced / chemical storm of a  product line introduced me to a sunscreen that had very like ingredients to my already favored and trusted lotion which, in addition to ensuring i never age secondary to developmental or environmental threats also  promises to protect me from the damages of emotional stress (regardless that i think that’s eff’n impossible, i love it and may even hope that it kinda works).

i had reason to believe. afterall, the sunscreen did not result in immediate facial eruption. i did the test patch: no ugly. i did it again: no ugly. i used it for 3 whole days: no ugly. but, unfortunately, my skin, a whole new world post delivery of the moo and straight up doomsday since conception of the bean in me, decided that 4 days of sunscreen was excessive and blew the eff up. hard. so, i spent day 4-7 of our getaway blistered and revolting and looking like an idiot who didn’t follow any sun smart principles.

may i remind you, i.can’t.drink.

point is, we had a wicked rad family time of serious quality and memory making goodness and now, i’m glad to be home. ah, the things we do for our children.

p.s.- have you ever seen my husband in a bathing suit? what a babe. chocolate, fit, glistening in his beauty body complete with a shining and giving heart. he is all good and YUMMY to boot.  how he deals with his train wreck of a heat grump physical tragedy of a spouse is beyond me. wait, he did go through those cases of cheap american beer pretty fast.


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