The Girls Must Look Tired

The other morning we were rushing around like usual, getting ready to face our days at the office (and babysitter). It was a normal morning in our household, 3 of us rushing around in our semi-organized chaos and R2 silently watching it all unfold in front of him. J and I were in a state of half dress, working on getting fully dressed. R1 had instructions of her own to go get herself dressed and she wanted to join J and me in our room for a little “family” dressing time. In the usual fashion of R1, she was jabbering on about various things when I heard her say, “Mommy, I’m going to wear hanging boobs like you when I grow up.” J about lost it. But managed to keep a relatively straight face in the moment. Now a multitude of responses went through my mind in the few seconds following her remark, but I decided simple was the best approach, so I responded with “Probably so.” To which she says, “Yeah, like when I’m a teenager.” And proceeded to walk out of the room. Now the laughter that J was doing so well to hold in came bursting forth. I looked over to him, looked down at my chest, and said, “They don’t look that bad, do they?” and pulled my shirt down over my head. Finally, dressed for the day.

R1’s observation about my “girls” got me to thinking more about them. These two “gals” have been through a lot in the last few years. These magnificent mammaries have been a source of food for 2 children. R1 nursed for just a few weeks past 1 year, and R2 has preferred them to any artificial source of food or comfort (bottles and pacifiers) since his birth, just a mere 4 months ago. I’m going to brag here just a bit, but I’m still amazed that he hasn’t had to have one drop of formula during his life to date, which for a working mom is quite an accomplishment. It also means that not only have my “girls” been introduced to the wonderful art of breastfeeding, but they have also gotten to know Medela (my breast pump) very well. So well in fact, that I have over 125 oz. of milk frozen in my freezer on any given day. R2 is starting to gain and make a dent in his popsicles, but for the most part, I’m replacing what he consumes.

(I refer to breastfeeding as an art because it takes a creative mind and a little luck, to figure out how to successfully hold a squirming child with one hand while with the other hand undoing those tricky little clasps on nursing bras while lifting up a shirt AND managing to somehow keep a blanket draped over the whole event so one doesn't accidentally flash boob flesh to anyone happening to be looking.)

The girls have also served another purpose for R1 and R2. These girls have been the soft pillow for tired heads on countless occasions. They have been the padding to soften the blows of skinned knees, bumped heads, bruised shins, stubbed toes and pinched fingers. In their squishy glandular form, they have been napped on, cried on, drooled on and spit up on. Yet despite all the punishment I have put them through in the last few years, they continue to “hang around’, waiting to solve the next problem I decide to throw their way. There have been times when R2 is really fussy and just can’t seem to get that darned gassy burp all the way out. The remedy to this problem seems to be to place his belly directly on top of the left breast, push in with just the right amount of pressure and pat his lower back. This technique has produced results almost every time.

These “ta-ta's” may not always be the prettiest or the perkiest. They aren’t often seen in cutsie little tank tops or sexy lace bras. It’s not easy to find lingerie or a swimsuit in a size needed to offer them adequate support they so much deserve after their dedicated years of service, but I’m not trading them in. Nope, these gals are mine, and I’m proud of them, high or low, thick or thin, left and right, they’re not going anywhere...these peepers are keepers. I just hope they don’t start to drift below the belt. Keep your heads up girls! Stand proud! (Please??) You’ve earned it!