I seem to lurch from one embarrassing moment to another at the moment.
Motherhood has meant I have had to develop rather a thick skin over the years, but really, there is only so much a girl can take.
We were enjoying a break at Centre Parcs this weekend (a place we love as a family as we’re all about walking and cycling and swimming) and, of course, we spent the obligatory day in the SubTropical Swimming Pool.
(We weren’t happy campers this time around due to a very poorly cleaned villa and some – I’m being generous here – crap pancakes, but that’s a whole other story).
So Dan and I are hurtling down the outdoor Rapids, giggling like loons and making fish faces at each other as we clumsily skid down slide after slide.
Half way down I notice a mahoosive hole in my swimming cossie. It’s a tankini actually, but the force of the water is turning it into a bikini. With a giant hole.
Dan catches sight of it and me trying to make it less noticeable while pulling my tankini bottoms out of said bottom as the force of the water throws me down another chute.
Dan is horrified. HORRIFIED.
“Cover it up mummy, pleeease” he yells at me over the sound of the rapids.
He’s tugging at an imaginary top to instruct me how to do it and the pained look on his face screams ‘YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME’.
I wouldn’t mind but the hole was only in the belly of my costume – I’m not showing anything that a hundred other women don’t have on display for all to see in that pool.
I feel rather deflated.
Feeling slightly dejected, we head out of the pool a while later to get dried and dressed.
I take Mia in to the changing room with me. Clearly I’ve mortified Dan and he wants to go with his dad.
Mia and I are drying off in our cubicle and she suddenly bursts into tears. Big fat, sobbing, uncontrollable, wailing tears.
“Mia, what on earth is wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”
She looks up at me with those huge brown eyes and she’s breaking my heart.
“I don’t want a hairy twinkle when I grown up mummy. I don’t want one. Just look at yours, it’s HORRIBLE.”
I leave it a good 10 minutes before we leave our changing room to ensure the stragglers waiting for a glimpse of the poor woman in cubicle 9 are gone and leave that swimming pool just a few inches shorter with the weight of disappointment bearing down on my shoulders . . .