My Daughter "Hates Boobs"

My two year old daughter has made up her mind: "I hate boobs."

Interesting that a two year old girl (or I should say "two and a half" because six months can be a big deal in the age game for some people?)

Anyway, Gabby "hates boobs." I know this because she told me point blank while she was looking at my boobs.

Now, I didn't breast feed this child, she was adopted. So, really, there was no reason, or no big chance to show off my breasts to my daughter. I mean, these kids get to an age where suddenly they start really "looking" at your body. When she was an infant, I could walk around naked, and for all she knew, I looked the same as the dog, or the stove, or the couch, for that matter. Now that she's two and a half, she notices things. 

She is potty training. I let her see me sit on the potty and listen to me pee. This amazes her because, first, I guess it's weird to think that moms actually do pee when you are two and a half; and second, she gets mad that I use "her" toilet. She doesn't like to share that toilet with me, let alone see me pee. It's okay that I clean it, I just am not allowed to use it. (By the way, this is not a kid's potty chair I'm borrowing, in case you were wondering. I know one of my ankles would barely make it size-wise in those potties - let alone my fat ass.) We have a kid's insert that fits in the big potty. God forbid I actually remove that insert and use the "big" potty in what she considers HER bathroom. 

So, now, back to my boobs. Since, up until recently, she really only recalls seeing me in various stages of undress with my bra on, she had never remembered actually seeing my boobs. So, she asked me one day, while I had jeans and a bra on, and was pulling a shirt over my head, "What dat?" I replied, "My bra." She said, "No, not dat; what in dat bra?" I said, "My boobs." She seemed satisfied with that answer and went on her way.

So, a day or so later, we're in Target and pass the women's undees section. Gabby yells out, "Hey Mom, look! Here's some boobs!" Of course, she meant "bra" but that's not what she said. I was mortified, because there were a couple of guys across the aisle looking at guy undees, and I felt like a complete fool. (Lesson #4732 with kids - forget about pride or keeping anything private. It's gone for you now, because you have kids).  

Well, so, I have been under tons of stress for many reasons lately. One night, in the middle of the night, I was suffering from severe anxiety, and I couldn't sleep. (THIS IS PART OF THE REASON I HAVE AMBIEN NOW, AS MENTIONED IN AN EARLIER BLOG). So, I am about to jump out of my skin, literally, when I suddenly begin to suffer from severe burning and itching on the side of my right breast. This was an itch like I'd never felt before; honestly, the only way to describe it was that if I had a wire brush on hand, I'd have cut open my breast and shoved it in the hole to relieve the itch. That's pretty bad. So, I decide the next day to call my OBGYN. I am thinking that I have some sort of an infection inside my breast. I'd just had a mammogram, and knew all was well, this had to be some disturbing "thing" that was new and making me suffer. The nurse practitioner told me to come right in that day. Of course, I took Gabby with me because I am a stay-at-home mom, and heck, she's a girl, so she can go to the GYN with me for just a "boob look." (NEVER A PAP - I'D NEVER HAVE A WITNESS TO THAT, THANKS.) So, I figured this was acceptable. Eventually, the medical assistant comes in, asks me some questions, takes my blood pressure, and then hands me a red shawl to put over me once I remove my shirt and bra. During my various states of undress, Gabby is hiding under a shelf, not looking at me, but playing with a garbage can. Suddenly, she looks up, sees me in the red shawl and says, "Oh, Mommy, you look like a 'peencess'" (princess, for those of you who don't speak toddler). I instantly feel beautiful! I am topless; my cleavage peeking sensually out around my lush bosoms -  yet covered in this maroon, sexy, medical-shawl. "My daughter thinks I look like, who? Maybe Snow White? Yes, because, of course, I'm a brunette and Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty are blondes! My God, this is a heckuva an ego booster, because I haven't felt like a 'peencess' for a very long time, if ever, and this lovely, innocent child thinks her mom is, indeed, "peencess-like." I am flattered and in awe of the intelligence of this child!

The nurse practitioner comes in to the room, asks me questions, talks about my mammogram and how it was fine a few months ago, tells me that "cancer doesn't really 'hurt' in the breast" so "that's probably not it," and then she says, "Maureen, I do believe you have shingles!" "Oh, God, no way! Isn't that a disease of old people?  No thanks! I'll take Breast Infection for $500, please, Alex." 

"Sorry" says Nurse Practitioner. She talks about my stress level, describes shingles in great detail, and what I am to expect (or not) from this illness. I am in disbelief! As the nurse practitioner leaves the room to write my prescription for a gazillion milligrams of anti-viral drugs, I lift my 'peencess' shawl off my torso, and reach for my bra. Gabby looks up from under her shelf, distracted from playing with the garbage can, and she stands up in front of me. She sees me, full-frontal upper-torso nude and says, "What dose?" I say, "Deez are my BOOBS." She looks at me very seriously for a second and says, "I hate boobs. They ugly."  I have turned from a revered 'peencess' to a 'two-boobed-toad with shingles' in two seconds flat! Then I think for a second, and I say, seriously, "You hate boobs? Really? Why?" I think, "Well, maybe she'll be a lesbian, and that's okay, I don't mind, hell, she's quite a tomboy and won't wear dresses...maybe she already knows she might rather be a boy, and that is A-Okay with me!" Gabby says again, "I jes hate dem. Dey ugly." I say, "You know what? I don't blame you a bit! As a matter of fact, they're a pain! You gotta carry them around and wear bras, and they end up sagging and you know what? You can even get shingles on your boobs! Who knew? I don't blame you, Gab. You're right to hate boobs! So there!"

So, my daughter hates boobs, and now, so do I. Saggy, forty-four year old 'now-shingled' boobs. 

Man, do I have an intelligent kid, or what?