It started maybe a month ago. At first, it was just Larry Potter and Hoover exchanging
And now its morphed to other things. This morning, I heard Hoover talk about bras. Both by saying "bra" and calling it the "Bowl-holder."
(I did actually try to correct him, but he didn't hear me. Probably best that way.)
It's even gotten to Mini-Me. She has asked me if she could wear a bra, and when she's changing, tells me, "Don't look at my boobs."
Boobs played a part in my own life, but not at 8, and definitely not at 4. Why are they so aware now? I blame two third graders on the bus, but know my own son is definitely not blameless.
LP thinks my bras are funny. Actually, most people do. I had one hanging up to dry when JDub came over one day and I think she almost fell down the basement stairs because she was staring so hard at it.
(At the time, her own daughter got her first bra and it was December. I told JDub to take it home for her daughter and hang on the mantel so maybe Santa would fill it like a stocking.)
|All right, now we have to ship this to The Snarky Mom!|
And while it's true that the older (fatter) I get, the bigger they are, they weren't exactly microscopic in high school. I was D then, and try as I did, it didn't get me any more attention with guys than without them. (Probably a good thing. Had it been different, I could be writing about my 15 year-old twins...I'm 32.)
They definitely were not a blessing. Every homecoming dress zipped to "right about there" (imagine me pointing to the middle of my back). While my friends had cute little bras with straps a quarter inch wide, I had the three inch versions, with 85 hooks and eyes to clasp it. I have a scar on my left one from prom (which my friend J pointed out was 15 years ago yesterday) because I decided to tape the girls down with heavy duty masking tape so my dress would fit better.
Later in life, I was a breast-feeding dropout. You hear stories of women that can cook dinner, sweep the kitchen, wash the dishes and solve the world's energy crisis, all while standing up, breast-feeding their baby. I was not so lucky. It was definitely not a one-handed job for me. In fact, if I could have rigged up a boob sling from the back of the La-Z-Boy, I would have. One hand was for the feeding, and the other was to keep the kid from suffocating.
Disgruntled Husband is worried about MM already. "How old were you when your boobs grew in?" he asked me. He did not like the answer. He also did not like to hear that women on both sides of my family are well-endowed in that area. I believe the shot-gun is on layaway.
I'm on my way to school right now for their end of the year picnic. I'm sure I'll hear "boobs" somewhere on the playground today. Well, at least they aren't saying t*ts.