We’re home. We’re days away from kindergarten and I can almost taste a party on the deck.

Maybe it’s being 39. Maybe it’s COVID. Maybe it’s watching my kids grow up so fast, but whatever it is, I feel very aware of my mortality and how I’m really not 20-years old anymore. Like not even close.

I’m at risk of turning this into a fashion blog, which is the last thing I want to do, but I don’t know where else to work through this.

I am having a lot of feelings about the cheeky, bathing-suit trend.

First jeans, now this. How is a middle-aged person supposed to keep up?

Do I want to keep up? Yes and no. I don’t want to be outdated before my time, but I’m also not clinging to my youth. At least not in a butt cheeks hanging out kinda way.

Or so I thought.

I saw some beach bums last summer, but this year the cheekiness really took off. Once I see a trend everywhere, I start to think, maybe I should do this, maybe I should have less coverage.

Once upon a time no one wore bikinis, now everyone does. Even middle-aged people.

There was no way I was going to make a change mid-summer. The only thing worse than a 39-year-old bum hanging out, is a pasty 39-year old bum with full coverage tan lines.

Nevermind that even if I had started the season with a couple cheeks out, when would they have gotten tan? I have a hard enough time watching my children when I’m upright, never mind if I were face down in the sand.

I was discussing the decreasing bathing-suit bottoms with my mom, I tell her,

“I want full coverage, but I feel like it’s dating me.”

“You don’t exactly have full coverage.”

True. And even though BB has full coverage, once it rides up, she’s happy to leave it there.

The other day the kiddos were in the tub and I heard some strange noises. I pop back in to check on them. They’re on their tummies with their bums in the air. BB tells me,

“We’re dolphins and our butts are our blow holes.”

So they are. No coverage needed.

And now that I have “mama milkies,” I’m not interested in going topless on a beach ever again, but BB made that decision even easier.

During a post-beach shower, I took off my top; BB pointed at my chest and asked,

“Why do they look like doggy milkies?”

Oh help me.

As I return to regular clothing, I’m somewhere in the middle of the bare-bum debate and happy to table it until next summer. Especially considering it’s almost time to figure out what jeans I’m wearing.