Friday, January 9, 2009

Raising Daughters and Growing Cuppy Cakes (Bosoms)

As I have mentioned in previous daughter daughter is beginning to develop. It seems that many conversations are centered on (ha!) all things "bosom." Size, shape, bounciness, etc.

In fact there's a old song (1961) called "Bounce Your Boobies" by Rusty Warren. Daughter LOVES to sing the chorus. I have to say it's a catchy tune th
at tends to get stuck in your head.

You can listen to it here: (PG-13?)

Yesterday, I made a slight error and chose to get dressed in the same room with the uber-curious tweenager.

I had taken off my pajama top and was putting on the day's wardrobe. This is how the conversation progressed.

"Um, Mommy. Your boobies are banana bread loaves. (Um, so help me, I am never again eating banana bread.")

Me = silent.

Her comment while I bent over to retrieve my bra from the floor. "Oh my Gosh. They are so LONG they almost touch the floor!" PUH-LEASE! We then had to discuss her tendency to hugely exaggerate the truth. I also explained how "long" is not a complimentary descriptive word when describing a person's breasts. (Sort of accurate, yes. Complimentary, uh, no.)

And then, I love when this phrase is asked. "Mommy, can I ask a question?" We have discussed many times, don't ask that. Just ask the question, because otherwi
se, my mind goes to scary possibilities of potential questions that you might ask me.

Holding my breath.

"How come one is bigger than the other one? I do have a guess."

Me...still holding breath. Can't wait to hear THIS!

"Is one bigger because as a baby I nursed on it more because it had more milk?"

Okay, some scientific thought had actually gone into that answer. I explained that whenev
er you have two of any body part, one tends to be larger than the other.

She pondered that idea for a bit, and then completely discounted it. "Nah, my feet and my hands and all my other twosomes are the same size."

On that note, I quickly finished dressing and beat it out of the room before she could think up anything else.

She is fascinated with what she termed her "cuppy cakes." She is enthralled. A
nd, she is delighted about this development. I truly do not think that as a child I was happy about procuring my own set of breasts.

I do not and I did not enjoy them, Sam I am. And, I have to be careful to n
ot squash her excitement. All that runs through my head is, "THEY GET IN THE WAY. YOU WILL NEVER AGAIN BE FREE TO RUN (not that I run very much anyway...but I might have to one day) WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT THEM BOUNCING.

So...when her eyes light up and she exclaims, "I think that they're growing bigger," I just nod and smile and agree. Who am I to rain on her parade. I can only hope that she achieves a detente with her breasts that I never achieved with my own.

And, I can secretly hope that she gets her Dad's breast size, instead of my own.

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