This is a guest post by the fabulous Annie at A Stone’s Throw From Insanity.
This morning the temperature dipped into the upper 30′s, so when I went to wake up my sleeping bear, Ellerie, she decided to be very two, and bury herself under the comforters. I snuggled my way in after her, and as I hugged her tightly to my chest, she posed the following question.
“Mom? Where are your boobies?”
I didn’t really understand what she was asking me, so I rephrased her question, “What do you mean where are my boobies?” I hugged her a little tighter to me so that she could feel my chest.
Then, I heard her giggle. “Oh! There they are!”
Her exclamation and laugh made me laugh too . . . until she dropped the bomb.
“They are right down here. They just fell down.”
So, there you have it.
My boobs fell down.
They have fallen.
And, they can not get back up . . . without surgical help, that is. First, Ab called them dangly, and now El says they have fallen down. It is just too much for a Monday morning. And, it is just one more reason why I would like to invest in my plastic surgery fund instead of the kids’ college fund.
A girl (and her fallen boobs) has to have her priorities, after all.