Tuesday, October 11, 2005

A Tale of Two Titties

I wish I could do one of those Vanity Fair timelines to illustrate the story I am about to tell you. But some sort of point form list will have to suffice.

* I hit puberty at around age 11. I sprouted nipples and that was about it.

* I was eager to show off my 6th grade nips and started focusing on my posture to ensure everyone could see them. I got into my first and only fist fight as a result, when Alice Istanbul accused me off sticking them out for everyone to see. Looking back on it, that's exactly what I was doing. I guess I got a little defensive about it and disagreed with her until we were kicking and scratching each other. (Thankfully we both got over it and still keep in touch to this day)

* My mother (a 36 D back then and a 38 F currently) thought it would be best to hide my new developments from the world and bought me a training bra. I insisted I get the one with the pink bow, because that's the one Samantha Micelli got on Who's the Boss and I remember it being a big deal, the bow.

* The training bra was nothing short of constricting and I am convinced it stunted my growth.

* I never got past a 34 A, which predetermined my high school trajectory.

* At 12 I read Judy Blume's Are You There God? It's Me Margaret and did the "We must. We must. We must increase our bust" exercises. Just ended up with really strong pecs.

* When I was 14, we went to Turkey for a month to visit relatives. My aunt felt me up (no joke -- straight outta Sixteen Candles ), laughed and kept calling them mandarin oranges.

* I was 16 the first time a boy touched my boobies. It was after we saw Ghost at Bayview Village. I was like, "This is alright!" Thus began a short but painful phase of thinking that boys who touched my nippies really liked me for me.

* At 17 I discovered Wonderbra front clasp (I think the model was 1330 or something. Queen Nomad - do you remember?). Life was looking up. So was my semi-cleavage.

* At 19 the doctor found a lump in my breast. I freaked out. I always thought it was God Giveth and God Taketh Away. How could he take away something that he never gave me?

* The ultrasound technician told me I had a nice tan when I took my top off. The mammography device-grip flattened my poor Lefty into a flat half-lemon. It was all too much.

* It turned out I have cystic breasts with cysts that come and go and hurt so bad it wakes me up in the night if I have a Venti Caramel Macchiato.

* At 20, I discovered in Cosmopolitan that some models duct-taped their breasts together for increased cleavage. I began to ritualistically bind my breasts together for going out clubbing. I lived at home and therefore wasn't going home with anyone, so this method was enough to get me some numbers and an occasional dancefloor makeout. Here I am in my hoochier days, so insecure, so desperate for attention, so much PVC and Pam Anderson heels from Orfus Road outlets.


* At 24, I met the Dog, who in true canine fashion, preferred sniffing bums and crotches to anything in the chest area. I decided we were soulmates.

* At the wedding of the Dog's best friend, I wore a slightly revealing dress that moved around a tad too much after a few Vodka Sodas, inspiring this post. Ah hell, I don't care if you see it too. The whole world has seen it. Here is my contender for Elaine Bennis-esque Christmas card:


* At 29, I found out I was pregnant. My breasts began to swell at an alarming, but quite enjoyable rate. By 5 months preggers I was a 36 C. After years of flat-chest jokes on birthday cards, I rejoiced.

* At 30.5 I gave birth to the love of my life, Nathaniel. I freaked out because he was in the NICU and I had to look at digital photos of him while pumping with a machine to get my milk to come in. Nothing was coming out.

* He was born Sunday and it was Thursday before my milk came in. And when it did... boy oh boy. It was like I had implants. Rock hard implants. Much like 3-inch stilettos, huge breasts would come at a cost too. No pain no gain.

* My husband's best friend came to visit us in the hospital as I was nursing Nate. His eyes popped out of his head. I acknowledged the slightly uncomfortable moment by saying, "I KNOW! They're enormous, aren't they?"

* I learned to ignore the fact that my father or father-in-law were in the room. Then I began to ignore the fact that anyone was in the room. I whipped it out in restaurants, in bookstores, in bars and in *GASP* Yorkville!


* I tried not to feel weird when family members would kiss Nate while he was attached to "the girls".

* My son could not keep up with my milk production. It would spill out the sides of his wee mouth and make him choke and spatter.

* I got used to stinky, sour-milk bras and putting on shirts that were "clean enough."

* If I made out with my man, the milk would spill all over his chest and our sheets. I forgot to wear a bra one night to sleep and we both woke up SOAKED!

* I soon discovered that I could shoot the back wall of the shower. I wondered why no one ever invented an Olympic category for Distance Milk-Squirting.

* Went to Secrets from your Sister to get properly outfitted with a nursing bra (I had outgrown all the original ones I bought). After much feeling up by the staff and $80 later, I went home with a 36 D! My molehills had become mountains!

* I did not recognize my body and felt very uncomfortable in clothes. The boy-style tees I am known for suddenly looked terrible and in a fit of post-partum insanity, I threw most of them out. Maybe huge boobs aren't all they're cut out to be...

* Around the time Nate began to eat solids, my milk production began to slow down drastically and I went back to some 36 B bras I had purchased as I was climbing up the racks. I stopped needing the horrific bra pads that make every shirt look lumpy. I could sleep topless in the extreme Toronto heat -- the girls were free at last! I started to feel good about my body again, though I still don't recognize the girls. They need some botox or something. My apples are now pears.

* After 6 months of solid breastfeeding, I started letting the Grandmas feed him a bottle of formula or two while baby-sitting.

* When Nate started biting me during and after teething, I began trying to give him a bit more formula each day. He still resists with all his might. He shoves the bottle or cup away angrily and latches on to my breast over my clothes in protest. It's his own fault, the cutey. The teeth are the reason I am quitting. He bites me daily now. Sometimes he leaves teeth marks. Sometimes the pain makes me cry. I think even the breastfeeding nazis can forgive me this. I did my best for the past 9.5 months. I normally like to leave the party on a high note, but it seems this time I stayed till the ugly lights came on. Time to go.

* I am convinced that I will wean (at least the day feedings) over the next month. My son is convinced otherwise. Sorry sweetie, Mommy just wants her damn breasts back to herself.

To Be Continued...

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oh my god, I have absolutely no recollection of our fist fight…Did I really do that to you? What horrible little bitch I was back then, eh? I totally blame that school for all my childhood behavioural problems. I’d like to apologize (20 years later) for all the crappy things I did back then. I’m glad we can laugh about it now ;)

La Blogueuse said...

Thanks for having me in stitches. This post was the funniest one in a while. BTW hope the Pup's doing better and I do so love the photo of him with the cat!

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