Since having kids, my figure is what could politely be described as a brick house...only not 36-24-36, add a few (or more).
I now get more attention chest-level than ever, and mainly from my own baby, who constantly likes to eyeball, or preferably reach down my shirt and check that the boobs are still there, haven't run off to seek fame nor fortune.
They're there all right. Boobage on the chest, under the arms, hitting the old waistline muffin top.
My 40D bras (parachutes really) are feeling very, very small and tight. I try to blame the dryer, "Evil machine, shrinks all my clothes!"
But really, I think it's the baby aka my Siamese twin attached at the boob.
Still I refuse to buy more bras, since I'm going to stop nursing Any. Day. Now. Is there a 12 Step Program?
I have less patience with nursing this time. Less enjoyment. I feel irritated my babies never would take bottles or pacifiers. I get tired of "whipping out the boob" or fighting off my aggressive baby who, if I won't willingly strip, will forcibly rip the shirt from my body.
Usually. Usually I am feeling all done with it.
Other times, it's an amazing realization that my body grew and still nourishes this developing little person.
But---mushiness aside---let's be honest, it's a great bargaining chip, "I grew you in my body, labored for 49 hours to push you out, and then sacrificed BONE to nurse you to the miracle you are today, and now, NOW you want to tell me I'm a mean girl and you don't love me...just because I said no, we aren't going to go out and get donuts for snacks."
You know I'm kidding. I don't say that to my precious children. I leave out the pregnancy part since, by far, that was the easy bit. Not to mention...any excuse to go get a donut. ;)
Anyway, you could rail at this face? You could say no, wean? You are a better person than I, then. My kids are spoiled. So? They aren't rotten. Just well-nursed.
By Julie Pippert
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