This is the first in a series of stories celebrating the five-year anniversary of Momania. We are flashing back to some of our favorite columns and blogs. We started off with a bang on Oct. 23, 2005 with a column about my boobs. I was mortified that this particular one was running on a Sunday – when my parents would see their friends at church. But I think it set the tone that nothing was going to be off limits for discussion and that we were going to be honest.
Long ago, before I had two beautiful children, I had two beautiful breasts. They were perfect 36Cs — not too big, not too small and, oh, so perky. Girlfriends were envious of them, and boys were always checking them out. One of my editors at the college newspaper would assign stories to them — he never looked me in the eye; he always talked to my chest.
In a quest to make my children healthier than I am, I was determined to nurse both babies at least 12 months. I ended up nursing each 18 months. Are my children healthier for it? I think so. Are my breasts saggier because of it? I know so.
I have topped out at a wacky size of 34E (More on supportive, ugly bras in crazy sizes in a later column), and I swear when I’m slouched over driving, my boobs drag across the top of my stomach. This is not a good thing.
When buying lingerie for an anniversary trip last spring, the lady at Victoria’s Secret advised, “From now on, you’ll need to wear a bra under sexy nightgowns to give you the proper support.”
I passed this information along to the ladies in my playgroup during a recent mom’s night out. They were all like “Aha.” Light bulbs went on over our heads because we figured out how to keep our boobs in the proper place during sex. (Husbands take note: You must leave the bras on for this plan to work!)
Breast feeding was not en vogue in the early ’70s when I was born. The nurses at Piedmont Hospital told my mother she didn’t have the right kind of nipples to nurse me and discouraged her from even trying.
Now, I’m not a doctor, and I can’t prove that I constantly develop strep throat because I didn’t get breast milk, but I didn’t want to take any chances with my kid
Ironically, one of the nurses at Piedmont Hospital has been my greatest nursing supporter. Julie Duncan, lactation consultant and perinatal educator for the hospital, has stuck with me through four years and two pregnancies. She helped me establish my milk supply, treat breast infections and taught me how to wean my toddlers.
Nursing is just one of the many choices moms make for their children. We want our kids to be smarter, healthier, more confident and happier than we were as they grow. And we are willing to make any sacrifice, including our perky boobs, to make that happen.
This column and companion blog on ajc.com are all about raising healthy families, and how we can make their lives better and our lives as parents easier. I don’t have all the answers. Believe me, with a 4- and a 2-year-old, I’m doing well to get through the day without a call to poison control. So I want to hear your good ideas and your worries. Feel free to log on to ajc.com and post your messages. Here are some items we’d like to hear your thoughts on. Your comments may show up in future columns.
• Julie Duncan swears it’s not nursing but pregnancy that changes our breasts. So moms who didn’t nurse, did your breasts change?
• We also want to hear from our flatter friends. One less-endowed girlfriend recently told me her chest actually went “concave” between pregnancies, and another noted her breasts simply “disappeared.” Tell us more.
• Other than plastic surgery or a good supportive bra, anybody found exercises that help? Do those “we must” exercises from the Judy Blume book “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” work?
Saturday’s Momania Flashback: UGA games are not so great for the wife left behind with the kids! Also my husband’s rebuttal: Why he doesn’t want to take me to the games.