Once upon the time, in the early 1990s, there was relatively nice, young girl who dreamed of having a chest. Nothing large or extravagant, but enough that her friends would stop referring to her anatomy as "ant hills".
Too much information already??
I'll go on anyway.
In the great words of Bill Cosby, the breast fairy had arrived as the nice young girl headed off to college.
And the girl was happy.
Her shirts looked better and she could still sleep comfortably on her stomach, the best of both worlds.
Fast forward to 2007. The nice, not-as-young-anymore, girl is pregnant. She can't sleep on her stomach and her chest is a pure nuisance. But she endures the nuisance, knowing her annoying boobs were there for a reason.
Her lovely baby was born, after three months of nursing was weaned off the ever utilitarian chest, and the haggard, sleepy, not-so-young-anymore girl could properly enjoy a few martinis with minimal guilt.
Sweet baby turned to the bottle and didn't give mommy's boobs a second glance.
Fast forward 18 months.
Sweet baby has turned to toddler. A curious toddler. A toddler who is now endlessly fascinated with mommy's boobies. She tries on mommy's bras and waltzes through the bed room. She watches wide eyed if mommy has to change her shirt or (god forbid) get undressed to get the shower.
While sitting on mommy's lap she she wants to put her hand inside mommy's shirt. During story time she fluffs them up and uses them as pillows.
It's not the using them as pillows part that concerns mommy, it's the fluffing them up.
Several times while mommy has been carrying her or holding her she has groped mommy and said emphatically "Ball".
[Starting the anatomy conversation about the difference between ball and boob is definitly not high on mommy's list, and her dad is totally unwilling to take that topic on].
Mommy and Daddy correct her when she is showing an over abundance of interest in mommy's chest. She is told those are a private part of mommy's body (particularly when she is pulling the neck of mommys shirt down while checking out at Target, having dinner at Grandma's, or chit-chatting with the neighbors).
But what should be said when she plants her faces squarely in mommy's cleavage and gives a motor boat - like she did oh-so loudly and oh-so proudly last week?
That not-so-young anymore girl doesn't know whether to feel annoyed and alarmed by her daughter's behavior or triumphant that she so obviously no longer has ant hills.
And that is the legend of mommy's boobies.