It would seem my household is experiencing a golden age of the boob lately. While Stella has been into playing dress up for some time (including my brassieres), she has shown a renewed interest lately. If I put a bra down on the bed in preparation for dressing, she disappears with it like Gollum. It’s Preciousssssssssss. It’s cute, kind of. Until I have to chase her down, boobs flapping, so I can clothe myself.
Some time ago, Will and I found these cool art board books on sale in New Orleans. Basically they take a body part theme and showcase famous artists’ renditions of said part. We have Lips in Art, Noses in Art, and – you guessed it – Breasts in Art. We never thought too much about it. I nursed both kids. My boobs have been out and about quite a bit over the past 4 years. And while I am ready for the girls to make their farewell public performance, we have been careful not to make a “thing” out of nekkidness right now (whereby “nekkid” is ok and not the creepy or subversive “naked” that we’ll get as the kids get older). We just threw those books into the rotation and moved on. Art is good, right?
Well Stella found the boob book last week. She was immediately fascinated, reading the title: “Breests in Art.” Once I tried to explain to my not-quite-4-year-old that sometimes “ea” sounds like “ee” and sometimes it sounds like “eh,” she grabbed it and began studying the pictures. Most of them are ok. There is one, however, that shows something out of the Kama Sutra or something: there is a hand tweaking a blue lady’s nipple. I neglected to photograph it, which is probably just as well. I don’t want WordPress flagging me for porn. She has tried to cop a feel since then. Not cool. We’ve had loads of conversations about boobies, butts, and bits being private. That’s when I’m usually informed that “eyes are private, too, Mommy, like on Mater’s tall tales.” I just ignore that part. There’s no point in arguing that and it’s not relevant.
The book? Confiscated.
When I picked her up yesterday from school, her teacher informed me that during a conversation about what you want to be when you grow up, Stella informed her that she wanted to be a mommy like me (using my first name, the little imp) so she could have big boobies. Her teacher just laughed. Overhearing this discussion, Stella proceeded to talk about “breests” the whole way home.
And Felix? Not ready to give boobs up just yet. On the advice of another blogger, I ordered something called Neem oil. Basically, it’s so vile and smelly that it’s supposed to gross a kid out to the point they don’t want to nurse after you paint it on your nipples. It smells like fermented dog food. I tried lemon juice with no discernable effect. I haven’t tried the oil yet, as the dude has had an ear infection and that seems mean. Still, I suppose soon I shall be enjoying this magnificent aroma with my son. I apologize in advance to everyone if I stink. I gotta do something.