Before you think otherwise, I am a major proponent of breastfeeding – I loved it so much I got all sooky and nostalgic when my youngest decided to wean himself at 7 months. And besides there were some not-so-hidden benefits like we didn’t need to buy our baby a soccer ball, he had two AND he could eat from them – well only just (see below).
|Baby gets a new flesh balloon to |
Now if I don’t wear a small crane with a hydraulic lift around every day I look like I’ve got two deflated balloons hanging down around my waist. Literally, the same wrinkles left from stretching around full blown mammary glands and the same sad droopy look, lamenting their former lofty glory defying gravity.
My hubby who is lucky if I turn up, let alone with fully inflated boobs and cleanly waxed and polished, sensitively broached the topic one night as I changed for bed, ‘What happened to your playstations? Look at them, they look like two fried eggs only not as firm.’ At this point he was laughing, that sort of schoolboy chortle you're more likely to hear directed at some poor kid in change rooms, when the other boys discover he’s still got no pubes or something. I, of course, abused him for being a dirty perv and quickly covered up, but the next day as I took in my new pre-pubescent silhouette in private I did wonder, 'Where did they go?' and more to the point 'would they ever come back?' (without the help of Dr Plastic Fantastic that is).
|If your DD sized breasts are getting you down and you too |
want to look like a pre-pubescent teenager this t-shirt will help
Until that day my hubby is making the best of things having recovered from the initial shock. Only yesterday he said my little ones make him feel like he’s dating ‘a teenager’. I embraced this rare compliment, choosing to ignore the implication that I’m now married to a would-be cradle snatcher! Me? I am content that for my boob’s sake I have to eat chocolate and avoid the gym.