August is National Breastfeeding Month (or so my Facebook tells me) so I thought what better than to titillate you with a post about boobs. (Pun totally intended.)
Boobs. Let’s face it, they’re a subject adored by many. Including, apparently, my darling tot who’s taken to reading the catalog at an early age.
With a twin pregnancy, your body looks to the oft-nicknamed part of the anatomy as “the twins” and suddenly seems to take offense to the duel lives of actual twins forming within. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED your boobs think. We shall outgrow the tiny people!
I never did get to breastfeed. But when the NICU staff told me breast milk was liquid gold for my little fighters, I decided I was going to do SOMETHING about this pregnancy right – and immediately embarked upon a very intimate relationship with my pump.
(Answer to the question you’re thinking right now: yes, this totally makes you feel like nothing more than a Holstein dairy cow.)
“Oh, your boobs get totally fabulous with pregnancy,” all the “What to Expect” books proclaim in their infinite wisdom. “But as soon as you stop breastfeeding, they shrink to much smaller than their previous state.”
This. Is. A. Lie.
While I was suctioning the nutrients of life like a human participant in one of Mike Rowe’s Dirty Jobs episodes, my boobs got huge. Like I was afraid to go back to work because there were no shirts that fit me, huge. (Seriously, button down shirts were a total no-go for the safety of others within projectile escaped button striking distance.)
When I ended my stoic attempt to sustain life solely on my own (because I’m a boy mom and those kids showed an impressive interest in eating from a very, very early age and also we had to supplement with formula to get them to grow anyway), I looked forward to returning to more natural and human-looking proportions.
Yes. My boobs shrank. No. Not nearly back to where they once were, much less smaller. Alas, much like the perky apples they once were, boobs prove Newton’s theory of gravity. The desire to combat physics (along with a few bad experiences) has led me to become very particular about my bras.
Victoria’s Secret (and now you know my secret) has very few bras not padded enough to meet the standards of an airline flotation device. And yet, I have found a few styles there that work for me.
So we recently trouped to the mall so I could acquire a few undergarments that would satisfy criteria for fit and flattery (as well as a colorful selection) as deemed by Clinton and Stacy of TLC’s What Not To Wear.
Jon paused at the ad in the store’s window.
Jon: Um, isn’t that wrong.
Me: Well, grammatically it should be bodies. But Body By Victoria is actually a specific brand. (That’s the one I get.) So the ad is a play on words. Plus they were smart enough to put it in quotes to call out their witticism.
Jon: …
Me: It’s right. If they are referring to just one, or if it refers to a generic brand, then the apostrophe is ok given it’s a possessive reference on their bon mot.
Jon: You realize Victoria’s Secret has a YOU somewhere in their corporate office who had to approve that ad. “As long as you include quotes…”
Search: <pointing at a brunette angel in the opposite window> Is that you, mommy?
Destroy: No, mommy’s wearing a dress. She’s a princess.
Hey – if the men in my life think of me when they think Victoria’s Secret, I’ll take it any way I can.
