BOOBS!

If you happen to sit next to us at our twice-monthly gathering of the minds, you'd swear underneath it all, we were hormone-driven teenage boys because most of our conversations revolve around boobs, or to be more precise, T's boobs. We are mothers. That is one of our ties to each other. And T has a pretty nice set of knockers. E also had a nice set of knockers, at least she thought, until she stopped nursing her kid, and then she said they were nonexistent. They're not, but they're not T's, and E is awfully drawn to those boobies. Not more than 10 or 15 seconds will go by before E is making a comment about T's boobs. And T understands she's got some good tatas there. She is still nursing her son, so it remains to be seen if the Titty Fairy will stick around afterward. We're all thinking that while perhaps T will still have some nice hooters, they will not look the same nor be in the same place once she's finished. It's something most of us have had to deal with. There's a reason why push-up bras were invented, people, and it's not for the teens to get their boobies any higher. No, it's for us - the ones who nursed their kids and let all the skin stretch out "for the good of the baby", only to realize once it was over that we'd be left with these flat, misshapen balloons that look like someone let most of the air out of them, except for this little pocket here, or that little bit there. Boobies do not stay up on their own anymore, I'm sorry to say. I fully understand and appreciate the push-up bra, for it works for me in ways my own body does not anymore. I may come to say the same thing about a wheelchair when my legs no longer work. It's just not something you think about until it happens to you. Be forewarned, ladies: your time is coming. The boobs will fall.