The New House
Potty Break, Paris Break… In Any Case, I Should Be Working

My Mirror, My Boobs

I have a deep, dark confession to make… I… did not… breastfeed.

*Collective gasp, breaking glass, a horrified scream*

Yes, it’s true. No boob for the baby. (Poor kid, so deprived.) I did TRY the breastfeeding. I worked with the lactation consultant in the hospital. I offered Chance ample opportunities to gnaw on my hooters. However, due to my being very ill right after his birth and therefore getting a late start overall offering boobage, and except for that one time where he latched on, Chance just didn’t want them. Spit ‘em out and gave me the bird.

But don’t worry, he still got the mommy goodness. I pumped. Turns out that was for the best too, because no matter how often I pumped, no matter how much water I drank or how much food I ate, or how frequently I utilized any of the techniques to maximize the breastmilk… I never produced more than 12oz in a day. NEVER. (Don’t buy all the hype from the La Leche League… there really are women who produce little or no breastmilk. I was one of them.) From the get go Chance was slurping down 18oz a day.

So he got both, mainly breastmilk with a supplement of formula. He was thriving. I was… well I wasn’t thriving because pumping can suck, but I was fine with it.  All good.

Why am I telling you all this? OK, you know that phase most babies go through where they love the boob so much they have to share their love with the world? You know, fondling, groping, yanking mom’s shirt down in the middle of crowded places (the bigger the crowd the better) as if to say, “See MY boobies?! Look at these boobs! I love these things…they ROCK!”

Chance never went through that stage. Until now.

Suddenly, at two-years-old – long after most babies abandon such activities – whenever I pick Chance up to carry him somewhere he’s thrusting his hand down my cleavage (or the valley, as I call it; I don’t have quite enough for cleavage).  And he keeps it there, unless I forcibly remove his hand.  I don’t know if it’s just convenient for him or what. AND he’s sometimes moving that hand around, roughly, then grabbing the material and yanking it to the side. In public. A lot!

Now, right after he was born, I wasn’t so concerned with the modesty. I mean, I had just had a roomful of strangers staring me full moon in the hoo-hoo. You know? What’s a little titty flashing after that? But that was two years ago! Since then a sense of decorum has managed to work its claws back into my hoo-hoo showing heart.

Maybe I am making it a little convenient. My blouses do tend to be a little low-cut. Not hoochie-mama low-cut or anything (not that there’s anything wrong with that; like I wouldn’t occasionally sport the hoochie-mama look for special occasions if I had the cleavage – which I don’t; damn it), but definitely lower than a t-shirt crew neck low-cut. Along with stretch marks and a shrunken bladder, I inherited a thyroid condition from pregnancy. Anything on my neck in a certain area… drives me up the wall! 

Anyway, Chance has definitely been taking advantage of the lowish-cut tops. There he goes, hanging out in my boobs, exposing me to the world, all very cavalier. I just don’t get it. Why would this start now? I understand younger babies and their boobie love affair – they’ve established a relationship, they’re commited. But Chance was much more used to being cuddled at my neck than he was several inches lower. I know boys like boobs as playthings but does it really start this early? (He had smacked the girls a few times, too – same move he pulls on Keen’s belly – I’m assuming to watch the jiggle (don’t worry, I nipped that one in the… um… nip.) And then on top of the grappling and my correlating soreness, I’ve also been finding OBJECTS in my bra! Whatever’s in his grip when he goes for the valley, Chance has been dropping into my bra. I usually wouldn’t even notice there was anything in there until the end of the day. (Sue me, it happens.)

And that’s why I think I’ve finally figured out what he’s really doing. He’s using my cleavage, my little happy valley, as a garbage receptacle! “Oh, hey Mom.  We’re going for a ride? OK, let me just get rid of this wadded paper in my hand.” Or leaves. Or gummy food bits. Small rocks. Whatever.

I am the trash can. Coo coo ca choo.

(Maybe if I had managed to breastfeed he would treat the ta-tas with a little more respect.)

        - the weirdgirl



LOL Too funny!!


That's hilarious. My kids were breastfed (Both past tense. I'm finally done!!!! So tired of it) and neither were particularly possesive of the girls. Maybe it IS a boy thing.


that is funny! steven turns 2 on friday and although he was breastfed, he didnt start the HANDS-DOWN-THE-VALLEY move until quite recently! and its nuts! im like, no! but there goes the hand. must be a boy thing for sure!


Nope, my daughter (21 months) does it too. She's breastfed (still, ack, kill me!) though.

I think it's just a baby thing.


My 3 year old son looked at me the other day and said "What is in your shirt?" Then tried to look in there to see what I was hiding.

Momma Em

LOL, Can't wait for my turn.

Wait a that why my mom always wears turtlenecks???

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah

Nope. I breat fed and mine both maul me on a regular basis.

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah

Wow. I suck at typing. Breast fed.


I feel like I just got through hanging out in the womens underwear department of JC Penny's. Anyways to add to your hilarious post I gotta say I'm packing on weight and Fred has started doing the same thing with my man boobs. It's like my collar is the opening of a pocket or something. What do you say to the guys when you walk into a room holding your son and his hand is down your shirt? "I'm teaching him what first base is and my wife won't let him try on her"?
Oh and if Chance is going to put something down there I'd start telling him only large bills are excepted. You sure don't want them making that loose change noise while you go about your day.

the weirdgirl

Wow, I'm actually relieved to know I'm in such good company! Thanks!

(The sore boobs still suck, though.)

The Phoenix

What a great post...thanks for making me laugh outloud.

Just make sure he doesn't stick anything perishable down there.


"long after most babies abandon such activities"

By babies, I assume you mean infants? Because I knoew plenty of juvenile males that I would personally refer to as "babies" who would love nothing more than to stick their hands down any woman's (possibly even their mama's) gozangas.

Silly babies.

And kudos to you for still breastpumping after all that trouble!

subarctic mama

Hilarious! Mom's are many things, but I hadn't realized we were garbage cans too.


I didnt even try. I was not going to breastfeed. And I didn't. And guess what .. 9 years later, my child is still alive.

Bettie Comerford

Breastfeeding is a mother's way of being a real woman. I've read it in a graffiti in a lady's washroom in some restaurant in LA. I do believe that this is true, though I've yet to be a mom.

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