I look at my reflection in the mirror. And sigh.
"It's a nice shirt, otherwise, but I just don't like the neckline," I tell Bekah, who stands at my side, considering the image before us. "I hate it when the 'v' ends way up here. It should come down to..." I loop my finger at the nadir of the 'v' and give a vigorous tug, "... at least here."
She nods. "Yeah, because otherwise it looks like 'My boobs should be up here'..." She waves her hands roughly in the area of her clavical. Which, as it happens, is right where her 14-year-old breasts hang out. If such a word as "hang" can be used of their perky perfection.
"'...but I'm old, so they're way down here." The hands flicker somewhere slightly north of her elbows.
Ouch.
Thing is, she's nailed it. That's exactly what's wrong with the shirt. And, while not exactly a National Geographic woman, I am 46, and these reasonably substantial breasts have seen three pregnancies and a little over three years of nursing. Perky they ain't.
"Hey, missie. Enjoy those while you can, because you're built just like me." We are. Sometimes she borrows my bras.
She grins. "I am! But I just mean that shirt makes your boobs look old and saggy, not that they are."
And again, she's absolutely right.
The shirt is now in the going-to-Goodwill bag. My long-suffering, well-served and still-noteworthy breasts do not deserve to be so maligned.
"It's a nice shirt, otherwise, but I just don't like the neckline," I tell Bekah, who stands at my side, considering the image before us. "I hate it when the 'v' ends way up here. It should come down to..." I loop my finger at the nadir of the 'v' and give a vigorous tug, "... at least here."
She nods. "Yeah, because otherwise it looks like 'My boobs should be up here'..." She waves her hands roughly in the area of her clavical. Which, as it happens, is right where her 14-year-old breasts hang out. If such a word as "hang" can be used of their perky perfection.
"'...but I'm old, so they're way down here." The hands flicker somewhere slightly north of her elbows.
Ouch.
Thing is, she's nailed it. That's exactly what's wrong with the shirt. And, while not exactly a National Geographic woman, I am 46, and these reasonably substantial breasts have seen three pregnancies and a little over three years of nursing. Perky they ain't.
"Hey, missie. Enjoy those while you can, because you're built just like me." We are. Sometimes she borrows my bras.
She grins. "I am! But I just mean that shirt makes your boobs look old and saggy, not that they are."
And again, she's absolutely right.
The shirt is now in the going-to-Goodwill bag. My long-suffering, well-served and still-noteworthy breasts do not deserve to be so maligned.
Labels: children, forty plus, reality bites
posted by irreverentmama at
5:08 p.m.
5 Comments:
Thank heavens for the honesty of other females!
I think my boobs are still fairly perky, having never breastfed my babies, but then that's what I think and I am biased...maybe they really are a disaster!
By
y.Wendy.y, at 6:33 a.m.
As long as you and Martin are both agreed on their loveliness, not much else matters!
By
irreverentmama, at 9:28 a.m.
Tag!
By
11111111, at 11:58 p.m.
On the rare occasions that I look at myself and think, 'Hmm, not bad for an old bird,' one of my daughters can always be trusted to come along and burst my bubble. 'Mooom! You're not going to wear THAT are you? It makes your ABC look XYZ!' And so on.
The sad thing is, I probably won't be around when they're my age. I'll have to come back and haunt them.
By
Mary Witzl, at 5:52 p.m.
I'm fairly perky myself at 54 - and I breastfed three babies, one for 18 months. But they've got bigger in the last few years and I've certainly had to rethink my clothing style, for the reasons you describe.
What worries me is when my neck gets old and crepey and I can't get away with low necklines any more.
By
Z, at 5:03 a.m.
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