Honestly, I can't really believe I'm writing this blog post, for many reasons. But alas, me and my sad boobs are sitting here, writing you this blog post.
If you've been reading my blog over the years, you might remember this ode to my old breasts...
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And sadly, a few years and another nursling later, not much has changed. In fact, my breasts have become more ballsack-like. Yes, you read that right. Try to contain your sudden urge to mount me. I know. I paint such an alluring picture, don't I? I'm a real artiste that way.
My husband insists that my breasts do not look like ballsacks, but I can see beyond the milk-filled facade. I know that in less than a year, these decievelying bouyant beauties are going to show their true colours and hang from my body like cold and rejected poached eggs. It's only a matter of time my friends.
I don't know what the hell happens to breast tissue after you breastfeed, and maybe it's not the same for everyone, but mine seems to have vanished into thin air.
And here's the thing: I don't want BIG boobs. I just want boobs that resemble...boobs and not ballsacks. Is that too much to ask? I'd rather not have to roll my breasts into my bra, y'know?
My friend (who is hilarious and awesome) told me that after nursing her second child she basically just wore band-aids for bras. I suppose it's cheaper, and a little Burlesque. Sorta? Just go with it.
*sigh*
I don't know. I doubt I'd ever actually "go under the knife" for a whole slew of reasons, but I will miss my former breasts after I'm done nursing my children. I guess this is why I'm glad my husband knew me when I was young. So he can close his eyes and remember my pre-children breasts. Unfortunately for me (and him) my husband has a terrible memory...
Guess what I found in my kitchen pantry the other day?
A toy chainsaw.
Yep. Sitting right there in the bread basket. My son's Stihl brand chainsaw, laying nonchalantly across the Country Harvest multigrain. Having a rest after a long day's work.
And I get it. Bread is comfortable. Why wouldn't a chainsaw want to get all snuggly and cozy on top of a fresh loaf of bread? A totally logical place for a chainsaw to take a rest if you ask me.
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A toilet paper roll is also a perfect place to hide a Lego dude, and a garlic press from the kitchen makes an excellent "worm maker" to squish Play-Doh. (Note to self: buy new garlic press.)
You see, when you're the parent of a one year-old and a three year-old, these types of discoveries are so common in your day to day life that eventually you almost don't notice them. I probably say, "Don't put your fingers in your bum-hole" almost as often as I say, "Don't forget to brush your teeth."
I had to remind my son the other day that he shouldn't be wiping his snot on the wall. (In all fairness, he was in the middle of an epic toddler meltdown. He's not normally that disgusting and defiant. But he sure has his moments.)
And you know what? I'm okay with that (Don't worry, I cleaned the snot.)
A little dirt, a little chipped paint, a little clutter and disarray...it all comes with the territory, doesn't it? This isn't to say having kids is an excuse to live in squalor, but it's an excuse for things to be less than perfect. Or at least, it's my excuse.
Perfection is exhausting, and I'm too busy being...less than perfect. I'm saving all of my Pinterest-y matchy-matchy interior-design-dreams that give me an "O" face for when my kids are a little older, and a little less..wreckless. For now we'll stick to coffee tables that have round edges and couches that *might* get peed on/barfed on/spilled on. (And by might, I mean surely will and already have.)
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Maybe I'm weird, but I enjoy finding chainsaws in my cupboard. I love seeing stuffed animals with their heads poking out from in between the spindles of my railing, and I'm inclined to leave them there for days on end, just 'cuz. I don't enjoy stepping on Lego (f-ing sharp little razors!) but I also have an unnatural hate-on for Lego. I just never know what to build... *sigh*
Just like the sleepless nights, just like the wacked-out tantrums, these days will all be gone in the blink of an eye. So while I'm in the middle of this craziness, I'm going to jump in with both feet. Yes, I'll likely be wearing a macaroni necklace to work someday soon, and I can hardly wait.
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