Monday, July 18, 2011

One of these kids is not like the other.

So on the 4th of July, I was hanging out with two friends of mine. We were laying on towels, visiting and soaking up the rare summer sunshine that Mother Nature has chosen to withhold from us this year. The kids were swimming and entertaining us with their childish antics.

Stella had gotten out of the pool and was standing in front of our towels, with the sun at her back. She was making “shadows” on our bodies with her hands. “Stacie, I am grabbing your boob,” Stella says as she erupts in laughter. It was rather funny. I rolled over to see a shadow hand, squeezing Stacie’s unsuspecting breast. She then walked over to Michelle, and did the same. We all laughed. Stella is a child that is always saying something, or doing something to push the envelope of appropriate behavior. I suspect she gets that from me. And I am truly sorry that I passed on that trait. But what can I do? Stifle the child? I guess some would suggest just that, but somehow I can’t. She is a very funny little girl. And I’ve always found that having a great sense of humor is an amazing quality. And  personally, I love funny people.

Anyway, Stella gets around to doing her shadow hands on me, and she pauses. She giggles. She says, “Mom, when I look at Stacie and Michelle, I see ‘mountains.’ You? Not so much!” I laughed. And before I could reply, Sophia chimes in with, “Yeah, Mom, most guys like big boobs.” I laughed again. Then I gave my response, “Not all guys.”

Then I told them, it was fortunate that I didn’t suffer from particularly low self esteem. I also explained that having a small chest wasn’t the worse thing in the world – at least not to me. They ended this “small” conversation by telling me that they were certain they’d have bigger boobs than me. “Well, if that’s what you want, then I sure hope so,” was my answer.
But it got me thinking about boobs. . . breasts. . .the girls. . . or toddlers, in my case -- or whatever term you choose to use when discussing them. They are a big (or small) deal to people. All people. Apparently even my little people. I know the girls’ and their friends talk about the process of “developing” and how they think they will look and how they want to look.

I imagine they’ve been so bombarded with breast imagery on TV and in magazines, they have a sense of what they think is “perfect” or “beautiful,” even at their young ages. And that makes me a bit sad. Because I think there are so many beautiful things that define a woman. Not just “two” things.

I hate that lots of people define beauty by breast size. We can’t change what we’ve been given. We come in all different shapes and sizes. And that makes us unique. Not imperfect. I can’t work out to make my boobs bigger. I can’t eat clean and earn a pair of C’s. I can, of course, purchase them, but that’s a topic I don’t care to address today.

I’m talking about the disbelief that big boobs makes a woman more beautiful. Although, I’m not saying that they detract from beauty either. But dang it, I don’t believe that lack of large breast size, makes me any less pretty than my big-boobed counterparts. But as always, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.

I want to believe that beauty comes from within (yes, spoken from an outwardly vain woman, who aspires to be better). It comes with self-confidence. It comes with self-acceptance. Or maybe I’m full of crap. Yes, I probably am, a wee bit – because although, my small chest doesn’t bother me, lots of other things do. It’s a lovely sentiment, though, isn’t it? I sound rather inspiring for small-chested America, don't I?
In all honesty, however, because I am flat chested, I have chosen to focus my attention on other parts of my body. Parts of my body I can control the size of. I currently have so many other areas that I’m trying to keep in check; the least of my worries is my cleavage.

I’ve never had big boobs, to even know what it’s like to get attention based on their size. Well, I did have “Pamela Anderson-esque” boobs when my milk came in after I had Sophia. My Mom was staying with me at the time. I woke her up to show her the monstrosities that appeared over night. I should have snapped a picture. And I guess they stayed on the bigger side while I continued to nurse. But then nature has a way of returning to its original state.
I suppose it’s a blessing that the size of my chest doesn’t bother me. It seems to bother everyone around me much more. My girls have told me as much. I’ve been told by friends a time or two that “I’d look great with bigger boobs.”

My response to all of them has been, “I’m fine with my boobs.” This seems to perplex everyone. But trust me. I am not lying. I am fine with having a small chest. I really am. Sounds crazy in this world of massage cleavage and implants, but seriously, I’m more concerned with the size of my ass. So, I took the route of embracing my flat chest. It’s worked thus far.

But mark my words. . . Small boobs will make a comeback. And when they do. . . I’ll be ready.

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