My Tits

I am doing it, right now.
It might be messy, I don't care.
I have had it up to my tits! (oh no she di'int!)

Snap one, undone
Snap two, undone
Snap three, hold on... shoulder straps off and FREEDOM!

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! Fuckin A!

Well, ladies? What was it?
Yup. My bra's off. Hurray!

But why, oh WHY, is this significant??

Many of we mighty women are moms (many of us aren't, but can surely grab a laugh). Maybe we breastfed, maybe we didn't. But our bazongas still filled up with the golden nectar and there was that to handle, huh?

I was not a big boobied woman. 32 B... since 18... maybe a C when I could find a barzeer that was cut small and made me feel voluptuous about my tag. I even intentionally sat one such Victoria's Secret number out on the bed with the label showing so my honey'd be impressed with my melons (like he reads my clothing labels, yeah, right, how ri-freakin-diculous would that be?)

But once I had a baby... these mommas are D's baby, no exaggerations! How tremendously exciting! How many times did I smash my tiny duo together to see what'd be like? But with these.... oh my! But, it isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Before, I had cute little pink nips. Now they're big and brown (We thought maybe I was making chocolate milk for the babe hahahahaha) and kinda look chewed on a little. Before, I could be braless and not offensive in warm weather! Not now, no ma'am, being braless isn't an option anytime!

BRA in the morning. BRA in the evening. BRA in the afternoon. BRA in bed. BRA just before a shower and BRA first thing after. BRA, BRA, BRA, BRA, BRA, BRA!!!!! My poor tits! Yearning for a breath of fresh air. An afternoon or night of freedom! If it was only the size, I could... but...

The milk. The blasted milk. Did we talk about the milk?

Yes! It is AMAZING what our bodies do. I am officially fucking amazed. Can we talk though? Please?

It drips. It shoots! It comes if I think about her. It comes if she cries. It comes if babies I DON'T EVEN KNOW cry!! It comes if I touch my gine-gine. It comes if he touches my gine-gine. GEEZ! They call it "letting down". I'm let down alright... what a party crasher that can be, huh?

Not even considering that the first 8 weeks of breastfeeding were a cracked and bleeding, pleading with God and my baby, almost giving up every hour and a half mess, it's been a lifestyle change to say the least.

Don't get me wrong, now I love breastfeeding. That time I spend with my little angel is mine and hers alone. She looks at me with her bright blue eyes and she learns me and loves me. Oh, I wouldn't trade it for anything. These days, she can even smile with the nip nip in there, and that is really something.

Yeah, I joke and call myself the milking station. I MOO out loud to see my loving hubby smile. I reflect quietly in the bathroom mirror and try to remember that pink and perky little pair. I even mourn them a little, because from talking to my mommy friends, I don't expect them back.

So, my tits and me, we needed a break.

I have to tell ya, they've been singing the songs of angels while I've written to you. They are out in all their D dang glory.

Excuse me now while I grab my bra and a new pair of pads. All this talk of the ta ta's and they're a'leakin. Well, it was great while it lasted.

Thanks.

Strap one.
Strap two.

Pad one.
Pad two.

Snap one.
Snap two.
Snap three.