booknboob.com Blog

It was inevitable.   And, don’t think I hadn’t thought of it.  I know that the name of my blog has the word “boob” in it.  At the time, the time when I was actually reading books (book) while (n’) a child sucked milk from my breast (boob), it seemed like a cool idea.  I still think it would make a smart t-shirt.  (I’ve already picked out the design.)  And, despite the potential porn-seakers, I guess I really don’t want to change.  

But, of course, today marks the day when a smart-aleck blogger– Mike the Bull of all people– decided that I didn’t have enough boob to live up to the name.  (Visit him at http://www.mikethebull.com/ And, yes, he writes about dog balls.)

So, why the hell not???  Let’s dedicate the next few minutes to, well, boobies.

(In case you were wondering, that is my under-wire popping out.  Just like it was–unbeknownst to me– as I talked to my principal this afternoon.)

So, yes, today, ironically, the day that book n’ boob was finally called out for it’s lack of boob (and sadly, I must say, book as well), my own little fun bags tried to break free.

In an environment where melons, speed bumps and hooters are on the very constant forefront of the minds of at least 1/2-2/3 of the population (I’m a middle school teacher), it is not, in any way advantageous to have one’s ta-tas on display.  At least not if you’re trying to be a professional.

I was thankful, however, that no one asked me about the large, round metal instrument that was protruding from my cleavage.  Maybe they didn’t notice…

Anyhow.

What else can I say about little milky coconuts, about huge bouncing bazongas?

Honestly, I don’t know.

Everything I think I have to say either leads me toward something truly perverse (nope, can’t share it) or back to the conversation I was having with my principal just after I noticed (while I was on driveway duty) that I’d gone wireless.  As I tried to nonchalantly push the wire back under my ample, three pound breast, I was happy that, at least, I hadn’t gone lopsided.  That would have been too much to handle.  Literally.

No, really, I’m making myself sick.

So, the conversation.

Come back to me now.  You know, the one between me and my principal.

Despite my bra malfunction, the principal was trying to talk to me about parenting.  He shared with me some interesting information about his colonoscopies and his Crohn’s Disease and I told him that I begged Paul to let me shit my pants while I was in labor.  I guess we’re the sort-of let it all out on the table types.

Then, we talked about how our experience as teachers changed after we had babies.

(Honestly, in part, this was another one of those conversations in which I wish I felt more strongly than I do.  I mean, just because I’m a parent, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept some of the numb-nuts that come through my classroom door.  However, when I hear tale of really horrible parenting– like coked up parents that can’t get their own toddler’s clothes back on as my sister just witnessed at her job at WIC– it gets me really, really sick to my stomach.)

Anyhow, my principal talked about parents that just want to get home and drink and get on the computer and chat.  While I don’t exactly chat, part of me thought that I might fit the bill.  I mean, I play with Silas.  I do.  But after a long day, it’s hard to push a toy train around a track for hours on end.  So, I push the train a few times and then get out the colors and then check my email or start on my blog while he is coloring.

Does that make me evil?

I keep thinking that when he gets older– you know when he is interested in soccer or dance or guitar lessons– that I’ll be so much more attentive.  But now, even though I love my son to death, I get bored sometimes with all the repetitive games.

In contrast to not having enough balls, does that mean that I don’t have enough boob?  I mean, am I not nurturing enough to be called a good mother?

Is that why Silas prefers Daddy?

I don’t know.

Maybe, just as children go through phases of development, parents go through them too.  I mean, we are learning just as much as they are.  You can only do your best.

And, I must say, that I am my best when I have a little me time and a little Silas time and I’m not too, well not to bring up the term again, lopsided.

Still, perhaps, I am one of those selfish parents.   I wonder, would it have been easier to have a baby when I was only 20 and not “set in my ways”?  When maybe having a baby was all I could see in the world and all the other stuff–  the acting, the dancing, the friending, the blogging– was something I hadn’t even fully considered yet.

I don’t know.

I do know that we all have to find our own rhythm.  Our own way.  Maybe I need to work on being present for Silas more of the time.  Or perhaps, my being fully present in spurts is better (for me) than being half-present for hours.

Still, I don’t know.

What I do know is that some off-hand male comment (you remember, Mike the Bull) started me off thinking about the ole milk wagons and what it takes to be a great parent.    It’s funny where your inspiration comes from.

In the spirit of only being present in spurts, I’m am finding that I have little else to say.  No more umpfh, really.  I know do need to change out of my work clothes (yes, I still have them on at 11PM) and get out of this god-awful broken bra.   I would love to explore the torments of a selfish parent in greater detail in the future.

Until then, love your juggnauts.

Peace.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 26th, 2009 at 10:50 pm and is filed under On Working and Writing and Mothering and ..., Where is the "Boob" exactly?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.