Monday, June 14, 2004


I used to hate my boobs. Or lack thereof. I was your typical scrawny adolescent with a concave chest, until I turned about 19. Then I went on the pill and gained enough cupsize to at least be able to buy a bra at Victoria's Secret. But of course then I was a college student, so I had to make do with the funkiest styles I could find Target on clearance.

Then I got pregnant. My perky 34Bs became increasingly shocking 36Cs. Then I went to buy a nursing bra. I was directed to a 38D. My lord, if the cool boys who made fun of me in junior high could have seen me. Buying a *D* cup bra. I wanted to run home and call up Tim Mahaffey and ask him "how do you like me now?", just to be spiteful.

Then I had my baby, and the big beautiful boobs went away. They now were a C again, but headed curiously southward. My ribcage permanantly expanded however, and I remained a 38. That baby spread my ribs as much as my hips, apparently. Three years later, I was back to my 36C bras, and I had resigned to give all those cute Target bras to my mom. Who, unluckily still has a small chest, but she also wears a size 6. I wish I could hate her.

So now, I have just had my second child. My breasts resemble some sort of pendulous eggplants, with a stem end that directs you to the wasteland that was my flat stomach 10 years ago. They alternately get rock hard between nursing my beautiful son, making me feel like the eggplants have petrified.

The bras I so lovingly saved for after college and purchased with pride at Vickie's sit unloved in my dresser drawer. They have been replaced with fetching bras my grandmother would purchase out of a mail order catalog. So much fabric, and yet when you take down the handy snap off cup cover, remove the maxi pad made just for my breast leakage, and expose the milk machine, does one bit of that industrial fabric support the massive brick that is my boob? No way, Jose. That bad boy lays right down on my baby belly, which now resembles a relief map of Asia.

I heft it's massive weight up to my nursling's lips, which move much like a little fishy's out of water, awaiting his meal. I am forced to smile. After I get over the initial toe-curling pain of his vicious latch.

My boobs. They went from flat to fab to fat to fucked.

But they are amazing things. And one day, they will once again belong to me. Until then, I'll just continue to be amazed. And have a backache.

Monday, June 07, 2004

A month already?

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

My god, how life changes with a new baby. I'd forgotten. No sleep, lots of crying (from everyone in the home), intermittent showering, and amazing amounts of bodily fluids.

However, I've been recently introduced to the most beautiful little boy in the world. He has soft baby skin, sweet baby breath, and gorgeous fingers and toes.

I promise to be a good mom, Baby Boychild. I promise to not be a crazy mother in law to that girl you'll marry someday that will never be good enough for you. I promise to call you Bubba the Boobie Man only in the privacy of our own home. And to never tell your buddies...otherwise it's bound to become a pledge name someday.

I am fulfilled. I am a mother. I am tired.