They’re My Boobs, Not Yours!

An unexpected side effect has occurred from breastfeeding my children: the total and complete loss of ownership over my breasts. It’s something the parenting books don’t warn you about and nothing your mom friends talk about. The moment that tiny, precious, little leech first latches on you’ve officially handed over the deed.

You might be thinking, “This news isn’t surprising. When you choose to breastfeed of course you’re losing some control over your body”. I don’t mean while your breastfeeding. I mean afterwards…and for years.

My oldest son Noah’s favorite way to breastfeed was to wrap both arms around and hug the breast he was nursing on. He got used to associating cleavage with love and comfort. Anytime myself, or another woman, would pick him up his hand would automatically slide down the shirt and rest between the boobs. My sister was so surprised the first time he did this she almost dropped him. That’s when he was four. Thank God he’s outgrown it. He’s 13 now and we don’t have any collateral that a bail bondsman would find interesting.

My daughter Ruby’s violation of my boobs is less physical and more artistic. Anytime she draws a picture of Mom, usually for a school project, she draws me with two of the biggest hooters outside of, well, Hooters. They are also, typically, bigger than my head. I have to wonder if this is how she perceives me or if they truly are my most dominant feature. After visiting Young Artist Night at Ruby’s school, seeing a family portrait drawn by my little angel, and watching a Dad look back and forth from the picture to me and then chuckle, I think her skill at drawing to scale is more accurate than I’d like to admit.

I breastfed Violet for the least amount of time so she has the least amount of interest. I did pay for it with five months of the longest, loudest and most soul crushing colic, so I count that debt paid.

My youngest, Hank, is the worst offender. Maybe it’s because I nursed him the longest. Maybe it’s because he’s the least removed from nursing. Maybe he’s just a breast man.
Like any other man he loves to pinch, squeeze, punch, bite and honk them. He likes to talk to them, talk about them and use them as pillows, punching bags, stress balls and best friends. For a boy of three who hasn’t nursed for two years, that’s a lot dependency.

He takes a lot of generous liberty with these parts of MY body. Even still, I wouldn’t mind as much if he kept it behind closed doors. It’s when we’re in Costco and, after spotting his favorite snack, he screams out, “I want some Pirate Boobies!”, then reaches out and honks my boobs in front of a couple dozen fellow shoppers. That’s when I start to wonder if my husband has been giving the boy a few lessons.

We all know that little kids have no filters on their mouths, restraint over their actions or any sense of public shame. My youngest son has honed these attributes into real talents. He could use these gifts for good instead of evil but that would be too easy…on me and my boobs.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say

Things I Never Thought I’d Say

You tried to flush it, you fish it out!

So, take turns biting your brother!

I guess you’ll just have to pee your pants! I’m not pulling over again!

Ruby! Run and get me a knife from the kitchen. Hurry! Run!

If you have to kill each other, could you please take it outside?

Why? Why would you paint your walls with poop?

You want to run away? Great! Hope you like Foster Care! They beat kids in Foster Care!

Sorry, you can’t have a drink of my soda. It’s full of alcohol, drugs, and prostitution so it’s only for mommies and daddies.

Things I Never Thought I’d Hear

Mom, what’s erectile dysfunction?

Mom! Why are you peeing blood? Are you going to die?

Someone come wipe my butt!

Why do you have hair growing there?

Why does Dad pee standing up?

You’ve got a lot of white hair. Are you a grandma now?

I think my boobs are growing in.

Mom, come help me! I’ve got juicy poo!

I like the skin under your arms, Mom. It’s soft and looks like wings.

You make one helluva casserole woman!

Riding In Cars With Kids

Waiting for long periods of time in the car with all of the kids is like a visit to the 7th circle of hell. After a minute and a half the whining begins. Such was the afternoon that we had to sit in the car for two hours waiting on a cop.

My husband’s car had been stolen from in front of our house. Three days later our next door neighbor knocked and said that she thought she saw it parked five blocks away. We followed her over and, sure enough, there it was.

The police were called and we were told to not touch the car, look at the car, breathe on the car, blink too close to the car. Just sit and wait for a police officer. One would be with us as soon as possible. Evidently “as soon as possible” in cop speak means “whenever-we-feel-like-dragging-ourselves-over-there-to-deal-with-your-unexciting-lots-of-paperwork-but-no-glory-shit-fest”.

In one of my shining moments of motherhood I thought I’d try something productive with the kids while we waited. I only had a notebook and a pen so I decided we'd do a group story. You know, one person starts a story, the next person adds to it, and on and on. I thought that we might get a funny, interesting story to laugh over. When you have a 13, 7, 4 and 3 year olds, all adding to one story, funny and interesting is an understatement.

I started…

(Mom) Once upon a time in a land named…

(Noah) Giantland the giants were having a rampage.

(Ruby) They saw a dead dinosaur, picked up its bones and beat each other with them.

(Violet) The giants huge feet walked around and squished all the sheep.

(Hank) The dinosaur went into the Batman car, drove it and ate a cat.

(Noah) The giants stepped on the Batman car. When the giants squished the Batman car it opened a portal to the human world. The giants walked through and crushed and ate all the humans.

(Ruby) They walked back to their world, laid down in the grass and took a nap. When the sun came out they turned to stone. A cow had a big huge hammer and crushed all the big stone giants to pieces.

(Violet) The cow found a wagon with a lion inside.

(Hank) The lion ate the cow. Then the dinosaur ate the lion and walked back to drive his Batman car.

I started the story so I figured I’d better end it…quick. In a brilliant move stolen from the old Newhart show I used the classic…

(Mom) THEN I WOKE UP! That was the weirdest dream I ever had. The End!

“YEAH!!!” everybody yelled. I looked at the clock. Four minutes had passed. “Yeah!” Somebody kill me.

Why Can’t Kids Ever Admit When They’re Wrong?

Ruby: “Mom? Where’s Dad’s car?”

Me: “He drove it to work honey.”

Ruby: “No he didn’t. He rode his bike today. I saw him leave with it.”

Me: “Well I guess not because it’s gone.”

Ruby: “No, really! Dad rode his bike! I saw him!”

Me: “OK, well maybe he put his bike in his car and took it to work to fix it.”

Ruby: “NO! I SAW HIM RIDE AWAY ON IT!”

Me: “Ruby! Stop arguing with me! Obviously you’re wrong because his car is gone! Now do you want to get to school on time or argue with me? We’re already late!”

Ruby: (Mumbling) “Maybe it was stolen.”

Me: “Yeah right Ruby. It was stolen.”

I didn’t think about it all day long until 5pm when we pulled up outside the house at the same time as my husband…on his bike. God I hate it when kids are right!

Lessons in Toilet Paper

"Check the seat for pee before you sit down! I guarantee nothing!"

This phrase is saved for only the best of guests visiting our home. At least they're allowed to use the bathroom. Most people's visits to our house start and end at the front door.

We're not anti-social or rude. We're actually trying to spare a guest from a disgusting surprise while saving our family's collective face. You see, our children believe that toilet paper use is optional.

It's not for lack of trying on our part. Lessons, lectures, demonstrations, scare tactics, nothing works.

Now, there is occasional paper use. There has to be. It keeps disappearing. It just doesn't appear to be disappearing into the toilet. At least not for anything less than recreation. I have caught the kids testing the time old tradition of putting one end of the roll into the toilet and then flushing. It's SO funny to watch that roll spin wildly on the holder while $12 worth of T.P. disappears uselessly into the watery depths. But to actually put paper to skin and apply some sort of wiping motion? Unthinkable!

The question I have to pose to my children would be this: If you’re not going to use the toilet paper to clean yourself, could you at least throw some of it in to hide your post-potty shame? For evidently the next lesson will be: Flushing 101: What goes, what stays.

Potty: Chair and Mouth

Around the same time that each one of my kids requires a potty chair they gain the gift of profanity. Now the hubbs and I are no saints. We won't feign innocence. We know precisely where they pick up their shiny little obsenity gems. From us.

We are closet cuss connaisseurs. We pepper our daily language with swears words both common and refined. We revel in outdoing one another in abstract uses. A favorite is the combo-curse. Combining two different swear words into one. New, impressive and, possibly, with its own definition.

It's fun and entertaining, until you hear it echoed back to you from the mouth of your 3 year old...on a busy Saturday...at the top of his lungs...in the middle of Target's Food Court...while shopping with your new, very Christian, friend. Oops.

At least he used it in the correct context. His father will be so proud.