The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Boobs
I remember gasping when I realized my boobs were resting on my pregnant belly. If I riveted my shoulder blades back, my boobs rose like Aunty Lyn’s soufflé – magnificent for a nanosecond then half-mast from then on. My boobs must have gotten used to all that lolling about, or maybe they are still looking south for the belly they got to love so well. In any case, my silhouette is no longer what it was, and the camera knows it.
Every photo of me since 2003 seems to be a bottom-up or side view of slouchy me – changing a diaper, pushing a stroller, or worse still – in the bathtub with Savannah as she lay blissfully suspended from her chin. These were not moments where the extra D’s of childrearing added symmetry or grace. The bathtub photo, I told Kent as he was taking it, was “bad naked.” He actually said, “But they can do something about those, right?” - simultaneously reeling it in as he tossed it out. He caught nothing that night.
It is hard to believe that I was a strong contender for the ‘Raisins on Toast Award’ in my college days - even harder to believe that Kent stared at my breasts in reverent awe the entire second half of our first date. But I was, and he did.
Gladly, all is not lost. First, there is the concept of a 'bra fitting' - a recent discovery after not-so-gentle-or-kind prodding from my adorably blunt sister. And then there is the even more foreign concept of weight loss (one day!), and posture, posture, posture. Finally, for others, there is the lofty goal of acceptance (never! I know I can will those babies to attention!)
Today, though I still berate poor Kent over his obvious lack of photographic skills. I can say that the in-your-face moo-factor is gone. My friend once told me to put a pencil under a breast, stand up straight enough for it to drop out and that is where my shoulders should reside as I travel my boobs around the place. Finally, after four years, the pencil drops out. No, I can't maintain that with Savannah and the clutter of the day's anticipated needs in hand - but there are moments (mostly at dusk, when the sun isn’t so harsh, and my hair is wet and without frizz, the bulb is almost gone and the shower has left a mist of steam in the bathroom) that my reflection tells me, "You've still got it.”
Now I just have to convince Kent to capture that on film before I'm the one wearing diapers, again.
Robyn Murphy
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Every photo of me since 2003 seems to be a bottom-up or side view of slouchy me – changing a diaper, pushing a stroller, or worse still – in the bathtub with Savannah as she lay blissfully suspended from her chin. These were not moments where the extra D’s of childrearing added symmetry or grace. The bathtub photo, I told Kent as he was taking it, was “bad naked.” He actually said, “But they can do something about those, right?” - simultaneously reeling it in as he tossed it out. He caught nothing that night.
It is hard to believe that I was a strong contender for the ‘Raisins on Toast Award’ in my college days - even harder to believe that Kent stared at my breasts in reverent awe the entire second half of our first date. But I was, and he did.
Gladly, all is not lost. First, there is the concept of a 'bra fitting' - a recent discovery after not-so-gentle-or-kind prodding from my adorably blunt sister. And then there is the even more foreign concept of weight loss (one day!), and posture, posture, posture. Finally, for others, there is the lofty goal of acceptance (never! I know I can will those babies to attention!)
Today, though I still berate poor Kent over his obvious lack of photographic skills. I can say that the in-your-face moo-factor is gone. My friend once told me to put a pencil under a breast, stand up straight enough for it to drop out and that is where my shoulders should reside as I travel my boobs around the place. Finally, after four years, the pencil drops out. No, I can't maintain that with Savannah and the clutter of the day's anticipated needs in hand - but there are moments (mostly at dusk, when the sun isn’t so harsh, and my hair is wet and without frizz, the bulb is almost gone and the shower has left a mist of steam in the bathroom) that my reflection tells me, "You've still got it.”
Now I just have to convince Kent to capture that on film before I'm the one wearing diapers, again.
Robyn Murphy
Labels: Robyn Murphy
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