I must bid my breastfeeding boobs adieu. Being that I haven’t seen them in almost 4 years, I usually don’t give them much thought. I actually have more pressing things to worry about. I have to feed and water the kids, clean up puppy accidents, that usually come to my attention after I‘ve stepped in them. Oh yeah, and I’m trying to get that whole writing career thing off the ground. However, as vasectomy talk fills the air, I am realizing they will permanently be a thing of the past, and G-d they were hot.
I am not your average gal with an average chest who pumps up some bazongas during and after pregnancy and then gracefully watches them deflate. I am like training bra, well, heroine chic as I prefer to call it. But, those post pregnancy tits, wow. I remember walking around my NYC apartment, frost on the windows, two below, in a bikini top and sweats. Pausing at every reflective surface to catch a glimpse of those puppies…mirrors, artwork, maybe a spoon, freshly shined shoes.
I’m going to put a picture of my breastfeeding boobs on my counter. You know, next to the pictures of the people and animals I miss. The type of pictures you blow a kiss to when you walk by. To be honest, I also talk to those pictures, though I can’t imagine talking to my boobs. However, I’ve have been known to do stranger things. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while will remember a pretty heated conversation I had with some South African oranges.
If I were to converse with my inflated tatas of yore, I would say, “I miss you guys. I miss the way you enhanced even a tank top. The way you filled out a bra and indiscreetly peaked out of a strapless dress. I especially miss the way you looked in a thin sweater. I don’t miss the way you nearly exploded at the sound of a baby, any baby, and embarrassingly soaked puddles into my clothes at the most inopportune times.” Ahh, the bitter sweet memories, the good times and the bad. They will stay with me until I finally give in and get a boob job
People will walk into my house and see a close up of my rack and say, “What is that picture of?”
“Oh, that? Those are my just my boobs. See, and there’s my Granddaddy and my dog. Oh, how I miss them.”
Dearest Jenny,
Please don’t give those old boobs a second thought. Trust me, they’re much too much baggage to schlep around all day. Better to be lithe and light as air when you jog without getting punched out by tatas. You can always add to a look if necessary with a little help from a miracle bra, but if there’s too much natural boob there you just can’t get them out of the way!
Be beautiful as you are. You were meant to be gracefully athletic. Besides, if you want to play golf could you even imagine having to swing around those big boys?
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I will be happy to give you some of mine…especially these days, I have plenty to go around!
An entry after my own heart. Or maybe that should say, after my own sweet breasts.
I’ll never forget the first time I had a baby and my milk came in. I was so amazed, so excited. I wanted everyone to see my new enhancements. Even the leaking couldn’t surpass my fondness for conture~~
I enjoyed this post! I give it a D, for the size I wish I was…
Rebecca
*sniff*
I miss mine too.
Except that they didn’t shrink completely…they just deflated. So I’m left with empty husks that flutter pathetically on my chest, four inches south of where they were pre-baby. Pancake boobs.
Maybe I’ll just have another baby so they can reinflate for awhile.
breastfeeding always looks weird to me in public, it always makes me chuckle a lil
wow, jenny, you must be one of the few authors who can write so openly about your breasts, yet maintain a humorous air without any sounding a bit vulgar or pornographic! this is by far one of your best blogs!!
and how true the leakage that accompanies the sound of a baby’s cry, no matter if it’s someone else’s.
(just one little secret about what’s in store: beware the sagging that begins as you approach 50; so be sure to keep that picture to remind you of what you had!)
MIne haven’t been the same after my baby. Instead of deflating, they just fell flat. I am only 38 years old and I have the books of a grandma!
Opps, I meant boobs. Sorry can’t spell:)
grandads and dogs come and go but fake boobs are always there for u
2.6 yrs total bfing my kids. That, plus some scanty genetic blessings … I feel your pain!
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Some dads have kid that write about history, love, cooking, astronomy, medical journals,kids, etc. etc. etc. You ?!!!!?? Check the first response, from Bari and thank your dad. At this point, Flat—ery will get me nowhere. Cute article; I think.
Yeah…
When the “girls” packed up and left in my personal universe I sobbed like the babies I weaned off of them. I too often stood in front of the mirror, amazed at their majesty, and in complete pain because I was so engorged you could bounce quarters off of them. Some nurse actually told me those lovely mounds of femininity would stick around if I had a third child. I was tempted until I remembered that I didn’t want to be cut open again, or acquire MORE stretch marks, OR cellulite. So I am sticking with my left over water balloons. They actually roll up nicely into a padded bra with underwire, and the fact that I can feel my ribcage through them tells me I will have no problem finding the tiniest lump if one should pop up, God forbid.
I need to stop typing now.
I loved my boobs during breast feeding so much that I did it for 14 months with my first one and 7 months with my second. I first noticed their awesome power while out and about one day. Every man I walked past almost tripped over themselves staring at them. I finally got some insight as to why this was when a kindly older woman came up to me and asked if I had a sweater with me. Apparently I had leaked all the way through my breast feeding pad, bra and shirt and had four inch wet circles on each of my boobs.
I would like to thank my two children who provide a constant sorce of entertainment and embarrassment.
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