I’d just had a shower and was layering on the Body Shop Brazil Nut Body Butter, when my four year old helpfully moved one of my breasts in an upwards direction. (If you’re childless, I’d like to take this opportunity to break the news that privacy goes out the window once you have children). When I asked her why she felt it was necessary to be so helpful, she replied ‘I’m just giving your boobies a lift.’
If only it were that simple. I could just have someone walking around after me, lifting my breasts up for me. Much cheaper and less intrusive than plastic surgery, but might make going out a little tricky. It reminded me of another conversation with my eldest daughter, proud owner of a new Barbie. We were sitting on a crowded bus and she was pulling Barbie’s top down, putting it back up, pulling it down, putting it back up, finally she announced in a very loud voice, ‘Mummy, your breasts are nothing like Barbie’s.’
No, they’re not. Nor am I married to Ken. And I actually don’t want to be approaching 50 (not til next year, and am absolutely not thinking about it at all) with the coconut shell breasts of Tori Spelling. It was only a few short years ago I’d thought Joan Rivers was joking when she said she had to kick her breasts out of the way before she put a bra on in the morning. I’d cringed in horror when I heard someone, whose name escapes me because of my horror, say, ‘if you think your breasts are saggy after breastfeeding, just wait ’til you go through menopause’. I can barely contain my excitement.
Of course, it hasn’t always been this way, as a male friend reminded me when he was referring to another woman’s breasts as ‘firm, full and round’, there was a slight pause before he added, ‘just like yours used to be.’ That’s right, used to be. I sighed and reached for the push-up-padded- guaranteed- to- give-you- the-breasts-you-used-to-have, bra.
But, you know what? I like my breasts. I’ve breastfed three children. They move when I move, instead of looking like plastic screw-on attachments. They’re not tucked, nipped, lifted, airbrushed or photoshopped. They’re part of me and they look and feel like the breasts of a 48 year old(and 10 months, but who’s counting) woman.