You know when you carry more keys than the average apartment complex superintendent and you’re in line at the store, toying with the keys, and your thumb gets stuck in one of the key rings just as it is time to pay? And there are people in line behind you and you try calmly, coolly, and desperately to get your thumb free but somehow it’s really quite stuck?
Bloggers–they’re just like regular people!
Let’s move on.
Ben likes my breasts. They’re nothing spectacular, but he’s a really big fan. Sometimes when I’m holding him—or even if I’m not—he reaches out to touch both of them (always both, never just one) and just smile at them. Or he’ll grab my nipples (always both, never just one). But for that he looks up at me, because he knows I don’t like it, and he smiles sweetly as I say, “No, honey, that hurts!”
Some mornings he still crawls into bed next to me and instead of going right back to sleep, my arms wrapped around him, he looks into my face and says, “I want booby!” And I say, “No, but I can get you some chocolate milk!” and he will finally agree that that would be fine.
Yesterday he was sitting on my lap, me still in my pajamas (read: No Bra). He reached out for my breasts and held one in each hand. Then he frowned.
“Mommy, why they not up here? They’re supposed to be up here!” He pointed higher on my chest, closer to my shoulders.
Not even on my second cup of coffee of the day and already my breast sag is a topic of discussion.
Like many parents, I try not to blame my kids, at least not to their faces. So I bit back some explanation that involved breastfeeding my children for the past five years and the fact that he still doesn’t quite want to let go of nursing and a resigned telling of how the saggy breasts are just a tiny part of the collateral damage of motherhood, thank you very much…
…and instead I smiled back at him and explained that up by my shoulders was way too high and in fact they should be here and pointed to where on my chest my ideal breasts would be if I were young and firm again, or if I splurged for a breast lift for my saggy sorry little breasts.
And then he pinched my nipple (just one, not both, despite my claims above) and I kissed his nose and I told him to go get dressed.
I went to get dressed, too (for some reason choosing my very perkiest push-up bra), and when I was naked my husband came in and looked at me and said, “I feel sorry for you.” He claims it was in reference to my having to get our children (now locked in a screaming tangled fight about socks or something) dressed and dropped off for school. I’m sure he was telling the truth, but PEOPLE: Do not EVER tell your partner or lover or sex-friend or whatever, “I feel sorry for you” while that person is STARK NAKED. OK?
How’s your Thursday going?
The post Thank Heavens for My Healthy Self-Esteem: The Dignity Issue appeared first on It's Not Like A Cat....
