First, wow, you people have a lot of porn. I don't have any porn and I am starting to feel a little left out.
Second, fine, ok, let's just talk about my boobs and get it over with, and then I think I am going to make it my mission in life to not mention my boobs on the internet for three entire months. I think I can do it, I mean, I used to never write about my boobs. It may be a hard habit to break though, so you will have to keep me honest.
Mia self-weaned a few weeks ago, sadness and woe, hurty leaky boobs making sleeping unpleasant, etc. etc. blah blah blah. Since she stopped nursing, I have noticed some changes. For instance, I no longer eat as much as an entire football team at every meal and my hips/butt combo seems to have shrunk. I don't know what that one has to do with breastfeeding, but I do know that suddenly, I can fit my smokin' ass into Mia's little play chairs.
The other thing is that my boobs are gone. Not that they were ever much to write home about anyway. I had heard all these stories about women who kept their big breastfeeding boobs and other women whose boobs got a lot smaller, so I was curious to see what would happen. At first, I thought I had ended up about where I started, but then I started to think I was maybe a little smaller, and I suppose the truth is that I just don't remember. I mean, it's been nearly two years since I've seen my regular boobs - some of the details have gone a bit blurry.
I asked Chris if he thought my boobs were smaller than they were before I got pregnant, and his mouth said "no" but his eyes said "DANGER! DANGER! MUST NOT BELITTLE THE BOOBS OF THE WOMAN WITH HER KNEE MERE INCHES FROM MY UNPROTECTED GROINAL AREA," so I suspect he may have been lying to me. I'm really curious to know though, just for posterity or something, and it got me to thinking about how I could find out for sure.
This is the part where we talk about the most embarassing thing hidden in the deepest darkest recesses of my closet. Actually, it is the third most embarassing thing. The first two things we have already talked about - my high school yearbook pictures, which I posted, and my huge black binder filled with bad, adolescent poetry and cricket carcasses (and how cool would it be of the plural of 'carcass' was 'carci'). The fact is that I have an excellent resource to determine whether my boobs used to be bigger. In fact, I have photographic (actually, polaroidic) evidence.
Oh come on, like you never. (Well, ok, some of you never, but not all of you.)
I'm not embarassed that the pictures exist (although I have on several occasions tried to determine the best way to destroy them... fire? shredder? warm acid bath?). The thing is that I always blink in pictures, and these are no exception, so not only are they not the type of picture I want to appear on the dust jacket of my first novel, they are just bad pictures to boot. Humiliating. I can't even get naughty polaroids right.
Anyway, I started thinking that I would dig them out and see once and for all if my boobs used to be bigger. And then I realized, I was probably 20 or 21 at the time, and if there is anything I don't need to see at 31, it is myself at 21.
Here endeth the boobage. You should all go index your porn collections, or something. Perverts.