Hi everyone and thanks to Badoozie and Emma Sometimes for inviting me to contribute here. My regular blog is called
The Girl Out of BrooklynI am an Italian Girl from Brooklyn living in the Midwest - and I'm not even in the witness protection program! I hope you will visit my site and learn more. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you.
After many attempts to post a picture, I'm giving up as the Blogger is acting glitchy and is making me something that rhymes with glitchy!
As you may have guesed from the title, my first post here is about my boobs. I hope you all like it!
As I like to say...Log On. Read On. Laugh On. Pass It On.
And Now "My Breast Friends".....
I'm not really sure how this happened or if I started it or what, but lately it seems I cannot get together with a group of my friends without breasts becoming the topic of conversation. Specifically
my breasts. Sometimes they are talked about. Sometimes they are spoken to directly. At the very least, their presence is acknowledged.
Perhaps it started when I was pregnant. That is when they really took on a life of their own. Very early on in my pregnancy with my daughter Lindsey, my doctor asked me if I was experiencing any tenderness in my breasts. "Tenderness? They are having conversations. They are having meetings and they don't invite me." Seriously, they were enormous.
I needed more out of a bra than any department store had to offer. I headed downtown to Isabella's Big Gals Bra-tique. Yes, that's right, it's a Bra-tique. "I'm goin where the Big Gals go!" I announced to my mother. The lady at Isabella's is really quite fantastic. She measured me and handled me and put me into a Double H. You heard me. I even went up to J and K later on. What she gave me was not so much an undergarment as it was an infrastructure.
I nursed my children and wasn't
that a sight to behold! My sister looked at me in the hospital with my son and was afraid I would literally smother him with my breast. I was so nervous about nursing correctly that I asked my friend Christine if I was doing it right. Wasn't I supposed to get half my nipple in the baby's mouth? She replied, "If you think you're going to get half of
that nipple into
that baby's mouth......."
Speaking of nipples... I was asked once if women get embarrassed when their nipples get "perky" in public. Not really. I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that there are nipples at the end of my breasts. I do get embarrassed if my nipples are askew though. I have to make sure that they are both pointing the way they should when I get dressed in the morning. I remember one morning I forgot and there was a little cold snap in the park and I asked my friend Julie, "Are my nipples walleyed?"
The girls are back to normal, which for me is a DD. (OK I have one DDD bra, but that's for those special water-retention days.) Why are they the topic of conversation now? Well, besides the fact that they have knocked over wines bottles, I've sworn off big, baggy clothes. I guess I'm just not one to hide my light(s) under a bushel. Come on, a little cleavage never hurt anyone. (Although I can't really say that for sure.)
I remember when I was 25 and at my fighting weight, a C-cup at best. I was working the morning show in New York at WNEW-AM when my friends Bob and Al (co-hosts of the show) remarked on how nice my outfit looked. "Are you sure?" I asked, "Because I'm behind on my laundry and I'm wearing my sports bra. Frank says it makes me look like a boy."
"No offense", Al said, "But Frank's a friggin idiot."
About 20 years ago my Aunt Eleanor decided that she was through with bras. My mother told her, "El, they say if you can put a quarter underneath it and it stays you should be wearing a bra." Geez. What do they say about a roll of quarters?
Last year when I went for my first mammogram I joked with the nurse about going in there a 34 DD and going out a 42 Long. She said, "Everyone says that their breasts get smashed. Don't worry. You'll be perky when you walk out of here."
"That's great!" I say, "I wasn't perky when I came in!"
That's OK. I accept them. They fed my babies, they fill out my sweaters, and if they weren't so big, my butt would really look huge. They're my breast friends.
