There is a lot of discussion about boobs in our house.  Usually, it involves the Turtles who love trying on my bras and announcing that they are wearing "milks."  Several times a day, one of them will run up to me, look down my shirt, and laugh.  "Mama's milks aww gone," they declare before they dissolve into giggles.  

Their joke is funny to them because they remember nursing but know that they can't anymore because I've dried up.  What they don't get is the irony in their declaration.  My "milks" have shrunk so significantly that most of my bras don't fit anymore.  They're not gone but compared to what they were before, well, let's just say my real estate has been severely diminished.  

This past Saturday the subject of boobs came up again. Vivi had her swim lesson and the teacher was wearing a rather ill-fitting swim suit.  Picture a very plump, 60ish lady in stylish glasses, a very low-cut leopard print tank suit, and breasts the size of a pontoon boat.  The prospect that one of her gigantic boobies was going to fall out was so great that I was riveted during the entire lesson.  (It's not that I wanted to see her breasts.  I just couldn't believe that her suit would keep them in place!)

Alas, there was no wardrobe malfunction but as I was snuggling in bed with Vivi that night, I asked her if she enjoyed her swim lesson.  "Well, it was okay.  I liked the teacher from the first lesson better," she said.  When I asked why, she said, "Mama, that other teacher has small boobies like yours and they stay in her bathing suit."

Clearly, I wasn't the only one who noticed.


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