16

“Sweetie, please don’t touch my boobs in public.”

Success Kid

The time has come. My daughter is obsessed with my boobs.

She’s learned all of her body parts and can identify them on command. But as of today, she seems to be enamoured by my breasts.

It started this morning when I was buckling her into her car seat. As I was leaning in to make sure her belt was tight enough, she touched my right boob. At least by going for the right one, she went for the one that still has some oomph left and isn’t deflated and flaccid after my breastfeeding days. (On a side note, did you know flaccid was spelled with a double “c”? I’m usually quite good at spelling, but I actually was taken back when my typed “flacid” was shown as spelled incorrectly. Learn something new every day!). She used one little finger, touched it, looked up at me and said “That?”. Fair enough. I’m fairly well endowed, so it’s not something I can hide or camouflage easily. All I could think was that it was best to be matter of fact about it.

Me: “That’s Mummy’s boob”.

L: (pointing again) “That?” – I guess she’s looking for confirmation. We learned her other body parts by repeating.

Me: “It’s a boob sweetie”.

I didn’t think much more of it, got into the front of my car and drove her to my Mother’s for the day. At my mothers, she did the same thing when I was in my Mom’s kitchen. She again, touched my boob and said “That?”. I don’t think there’s a point in not telling her what it is, so I answered again. “It’s a boob”.

I don’t know if she obsessed upon it for the remainder of the day while I was at work. However, after work, while shopping for a new computer monitor (Yay! I can actually see what I’m typing now – our old monitor was shite!), she reached up from the shopping cart. I had a feeling what was going to happen, but I had her half-eaten banana in one hand, and my purse in the other, while trying to push the cart. She didn’t just point this time. She took advantage of my full hands, and full on grabbed. Actually, she didn’t even stop at a grab. She “petted” my boob and said “Oooohh!”.

demotivational-posters-funny-kid-touching-boobs

Oh for God’s sake. You haven’t been breastfed or seen a boob since we stopped breastfeeding, and that was 15 months ago. Why all of a sudden are you caressing me in public!

Queue me dropping my purse on the ground, shoving the peeled banana inside (yeah that was fun to clean off of my wallet later), and trying to distract her as quickly as possible. What’s nearby? My fiance is looking at electronics, and there’s some DVD’s – quick! “Here L, look! It’s Strawberry Shortcake!”.

Success found in pink, cartoony, animated goodness.

It’s not that I am ashamed of my breasts, or don’t understand that curiosity is a natural thing. I was just taken so off guard by the sudden caressing, with the “Oooooh!” and the people staring at me.

I wonder how long this phase is going to last…

 

 

8

“Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro?”

Image

So if you read the “About” section on here, you’d see how I’ve described myself. Not-so-skinny, not-so-perfect, etc. The one thing I could say about myself for a long time though, is that I liked my rack. I never had issues when it came to “fulfilling” that area. I think what I liked best about my boobs, was that they took away from my gut. Focus, UP!

I don’t know about you other mom’s, but seriously, WTF happened to my tits! I went from having boobs a pin-up girl would be envious of, to ending up looking like I should be on the cover of National Geographic (not in a good way). They’ve lost their “oomph” so to speak.

Not only that, but one tit seems to feel more “deflated” than the other tit, which makes finding a bra a bitch. Not only do I have to find a bra that defies gravity, so to speak, but I have to find one that leaves the girls looking equally full again.

You don’t find bras like that at Walmart.

At least their still big, and can still distract from the fact that my daughter is 19 months old, and I still manage to have a belly that looks like I’m 6 months pregnant….and a zebra. Yay, stretchmarks! (Said nobody ever).

If you’re one of those women who ended up popping right back in to looking like a barbie doll… you’re clearly following the wrong blog.

(And I’m secretly super fucking jealous.)