Defiance

At this moment, I should be in my office’s lactation room listening to the gasping wheeze of my Avent Isis Duo collecting breast milk for my second born. But I don’t want to. This decision will almost certainly lead to the manual pumping of an overly full right bosom at approximately 8:30 p.m. and the lamenting of said decision. Do you know today marks fifty days. Fifty days from today, I will be free. My time served. I have been wondering of late when the day approaches, what emotions will bubble. Sadness for the fact this is it, no more babies? Accomplishment for the fact I did this year long sentence twice for both of my kids? Happiness that Maggie is a year old and we made it without killing her, Owen or each other? Joy that I can finally drink vodka, whiskey and tequila? Not really sure (well other than the fact there will be joy in the form of a Manhattan), but I am stumbling to finish this nursing marathon. I want it over, I want it done, and I want a non-pornographic bosom. I cannot wait for March 5, 2010 to arrive. Its been a long haul.

The Results Are In (Kinda).

So did I kill my hair stylist? Nope. Did my ass fall asleep due to the fact that this haircut took about 2.5 hours? Yes. You ever try to walk after your left cheek has fallen into such a slumber that there is no feeling. It’s hard. Do I like my hair? I believe so. It is longish with lots of layers. It will suffice until the pregnancy weight is dropped so that the one and only blunt bob can return. My being at the core is the blunt bob. I feared doing it this weekend because I am far away from blunt bob body. This photo will be my goal in both hair and body:



Once pregnancy created asszilla, bellyzilla and upper thigherzilla are slayed; we can venture back to the bob. Progress is good since John informed me this morning that my ass is half the size it was after giving birth. And yes ladies, he is taken!

This weekend I decided that I have had enough of the moob. Those not in the know, the moob is the result of a big breasted lady wearing a shelf bra tank top as her only support. There is no definition between the breasts, creating a one mammoth boob, or mono-boob, or moob for short. TM pending. In order to have the moob eliminated from my being, I am now wearing one under wire nursing bra and then the shelf nursing tank. Hello boobies! However, it does feels like an anaconda is squeezing the life out of my lungs. But I care not, because it creates two inches of lift. You know how I know this? Because yesterday I leaked breast milk with the bra/tank combo. I then removed the bra. Looking in the mirror there was a two inch differential from the milk stain and where my nipples lay. Two freaking inches. Gravity is not loving to the nursing mother, especially one that has traveled the road before. But I rather have the gravitational pull problem of the big breasted girl, than the deflated balloon problem of the small/medium breasted girl. Because a bra can fix the lift, there is no getting around the deflated balloon boobies. It’s like a gastric bypass patient after weight loss, too much skin and not enough fat. And that ain’t pretty.