Archive for January 18th, 2009


You’d think I would have a category titled “boobs” on my site, here, you know, for easy browsing.

But I don’t.


Anyway, I was conversing with someone recently about flat ones. Flat boobs, that is.

I was always flat chested, and self conscious of it. I think I wore my first bra when I went to college, merely because it was cold in the midwest and I didn’t want to nip out…I was from Southern California and the warmer weather didn’t really cause that.

My mom always had awesome boobs. I remember when I was out of college, I finally gathered the nerve to ask her, after she made mention about how flat chested she was when she was a teenager, HOW ON EARTH DID YOU END UP WITH THOSE?

Turns out, she got big ones after having babies.

Now, listen here. My mother didn’t breast feed my sister or me, and we turned out pretty normal I think. And I have this theory that it is because of that, my mother has great boobs.

So I gave birth to Red. I HATED breast feeding. It hurt for the first six weeks, all fifty-four times a day I had to feed the  little sucker.  At five months, I had to leave her behind when there was a family emergency, and thankfully she would take a bottle. On the plane on a midnight flight, I was sitting there with this horrible pump up under my shirt, pumping away. Every few hours I had to “pump and dump”, since there was no way I was carrying the milk around in a cooler, in another time zone, and then back across the country on the plane home, days later.

I will backtrack to say that when I first had Red, I found myself in the hospital bed with a wailing redhead beside me, dying for milk. Seven nurses were grabbing my breasts and giving me advice on how to get her little mouth around my nipple properly. My co-workers who had come to visit and bring presents, were waiting in the hall for me. (because you just can’t let your Vice President Boss from a very corporate world, see you breast feed). I decided right there I was not going to breast feed.

Then in came the forces. THE MOTHER IN LAW gave me a lecture. As did the four sisters-in-law. As did my-husband-at-the-time. Lectures about a breast fed kid’s IQ compared to a non-breast fed kid’s IQ were thrown out. And statistics on MCAS scores, and reading comprehension. I do believe at some point, I heard “if she isn’t breast fed, she’ll get DIVORCED.”

So, I kept at it. I kept breast feeding until the pain finally went away. Until I stopped sweating and crying, every time she latched on.

But then, that trip, the trip where I was pumping and dumping. Well, I got home from that trip and she just felt she liked the bottle better than breast feeding.

So I gave it up.

And things were happy.

When Blue came along, I did start breast feeding her. Figuring that out was much easier, seeing that I had done it with Red for six months. The problem was that she never seemed to get enough, so I was feeding her every 45 minutes or so….but the bigger problem was that she had a very jealous-not-quite-two-year-old-redheaded-sister, who would stalk right up to us, coo and sigh and whisper sweet love in our ears and then reel back and wack her with all her might on the face.


That was the end of that.

And then we went right to the bottle with formula. I mean, I didn’t even stop at pumping. I was done with my breasts. Done, I say.

Even to this day, I can’t help but notice that every woman I know who has breast fed the hell out of their boobs, are sagging down to their crotch. If I see a saggy droopy out of shape-boobs woman, I bet I could ask her, “how many years did you breast feed?” And they would probably say they breast fed every one of their four children for two years…which means, they had a babe sucking on them for a cumulative of EIGHT YEARS.

That’s cause for some serious damage.

I’m not saying that breast feeding is the only cause for saggy boobs. But I am saying, if you breast fed, your boobs are likely to sag, say, more than someone who didn’t. Or someone who tried and didn’t do it for too long.  And perhaps, more than someone who started out flat in the first place. 

Thankfully, what rang true for my mom, rang true for me, despite my short bout with nursing my girls. When I’m eighty, I likely will not be gathering ’em up in a bra like a hammock before I start my day.

Read Full Post »