I was the last one to hit puberty. It was devastating. I watched every girl in the middle school gym locker room get to change their shirts out in the open because they had a bra to cover their chest. I had to hide. Every night I stared from every angle in the mirror to see if my boobs were coming in. I would wish for boobs on the evening star, on triple numbers on the clocks, and with pennies in fountains. Boys made fun of me. My dad even teased me. “When are your boobies going to come in already?” He’d say. I would cry. If only I could get boobs big enough to have cleavage everything would turn out okay in life.
In eleventh grade it finally happened. Overnight, all my wishing finally came true. I went from double A’s to D cups. I gained the attention of older boys, younger boys, and dirty old men. I could no longer wear button down shirts but I didn’t mind. I was finally a curvy woman. And to top it off, I made my dad super uncomfortable when I wore a bathing suit which was the ultimate revenge.
I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed the attention I’ve gotten from my chest over the last thirteen years. Never for a day did I regret my wishes; until recently. I have a five year old. He is obsessed with potty talk. Mainly poop. Recently though his new potty word is “nipples”. Now as a rule, I don’t let him see me naked. I took a course in childhood psychology and I know that childhood memories start at age four and I DO NOT want his first or any of his memories be of his mother naked. This rule however has not stopped his fascination with talking or trying to grab my boobs. (Obviously, a man gene.)
The other day I brought my child downstairs for breakfast. I was wearing a cute low cut v neck t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I sat down to drink my coffee and talk to him and he said, “Mommy! Your boob crack is showing! I’m going to throw up, disgusting!” I was humiliated. I pulled the v neck section of my shirt way up to my chin and ran out of the room. I felt dirty. I think it was the term he used; boob crack. It put shivers up my spine. Had I traumatized my son? Was I a skanky mom? Were my boobs saggy making my cleavage looking more like a long crack and, as he said, “disgusting”? I had to pull myself together. I walked out of the bathroom and he said it again. “I see your boob crack”. Now he knew he was upsetting me. This time I slid on my jacket and covered up my “crack”.
“First of all, son, it is not nice to tease people. Second, you should not look at your mommy’s boobies. Or talk about anyone’s boobies. And it’s not called a boob crack. Now eat your breakfast.” That should do it. Good lecture. I don’t want to traumatize him from boobs. After all he is a boy. I just want to traumatize him from my boobs.
As for me now, I feel like I did when I was twelve; ultra self conscious of my chest. I feel as if everyone is staring at me, but not in a good way. I have suddenly become that mom. The one who is a little too sexy above the waist, and to top it off, I have two boys. I like wearing tighter shirts. My boobs are my one good feature. But now that my kid is noticing, it’s like gross and trampy. It’s worse then when my dad was teasing me. I obviously made one wish in the fountain too many. I can’t take the wishes back, without surgery. I could get a minimizer bra but my husband will not like that; those things are hideous.
I did a lot of thinking and I realize the best I can do is to cover up and make some new rules in the house so I don’t have to feel so humiliated by a five year old. I tossed my v necks and bought a bunch of crew neck shirts and the potty talk rules are now as follows:
1. Potty talk only at home (obvious)
2. Potty words may only consist of things that come out, not parts
3. Stop criticizing mommy or commenting on what she looks like;
unless its to say she looks beautiful or pretty.
I’m pretty sure with my new shirts and our new rules I will prevent any new instances of my child humiliating what I look like in the near future. As for my “boob crack”, I’ll just double check to make sure it only shows on date nights.