Wax On, Wax Off

As I looked over the schedule for the Y, I realized that the most appealing classes(i.e. those that I would most likely stick with for the duration of my pregnancy, thus eliminating excuses for not exercising regularly) were going to require a bathing suit.

I did several searches for plus size maternity one pieces that did not include a 1920's bathing costume with knee length skirt, and had no success. Fine, my maternity tankini would have to do the trick. Then, a bigger problem occurred to me...I had not been waxed since leaving Oregon! Lest you are imaging Sasquatch, I had not completely neglected the area, it was just not bathing-suit ready.

First, in keeping with my new resolution to try and be more frugal when it comes to hair care and other superficial needs, I purchased a box of Nair pre-waxed strips. That bag sat on the kitchen table for a couple of days. I told J that I would need his help, as there were several issues with waxing myself.

1. It was going to hurt like hell.
2. You need to hold the skin taught, which is not as easy on a 2 bills-plus girl as it would be your average waif.
3. I couldn't see the area very well with a belly blooming above it.
4. It was going to hurt like hell.

J kind of looked at me with that I'll help you if you really need it, but I'd rather do anything else than help you wax your bikini line face, without ever really saying anything.

Two more days passed by, and I realized that my frugal side was not going to win this battle. I gathered up that sad little bag, returned it to Target, and headed to my favorite nail salon, which also happens to offer body waxing.

As I was laying on the table, prepping myself for the pleasure of having hair ripped out by its roots, I remembered that I was going to look into buying a novacaine cream designed for just this occasion. Hmmm...must remember next time.

I must admit, though, it was much less painful than I remembered...of course, the last couple of times that I got it done, I arranged it so that I was having happy hour at the next-door restaurant and had my friends hold my seat for a couple of minutes after the first two lemon drops, so my memory of it was a little dull to begin with...oh, well.

It's not that I enjoy it, it's just not the horribly painful experience that some would lead you to believe. It's just such a relief to my little OCD mind that I don't have to worry about scrutiny and ridicule while in my lovely tankini!

Seriously, what was I thinking that I could do it myself? Totally worth the $30 to have someone else just rip my heart out, I mean hair, for me.