You should talk about boobs too

I never thought I would talk about boobs so much on this blog.

Of course I never thought my boobs would get to serve a purpose. I didn't expect to get to have children. Now, I sit, Bird tippy tapping just below my belly button, and I'm peeking over my chest at the computer screen. These boobs have grown to mammoth proportions, getting ready to perform the most important task in the world. Feeding my child.

Right now, women all over the blogosphere are uniting to speak up about breasts. So many of us have been talking about how you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Now though, we are talking about breast feeding.

Facebook, MySpace, Applebee's, Delta Airlines, all have brought their companies under the wrath of mothers everywhere by treating breast feeding as something dirty. Something that needed to be covered and hidden. Something that we should be ashamed of.

I don't have accounts on Facebook or MySpace. I would rather lick the bottom of some movie theater seats than have to eat at Applebees. And I fly American because there is more leg room on some of their planes. I'm all leg. And boob.

I can't even talk about Bill Mahr. It makes me too mad. Someone should wax that man's balls. With really really hot wax.

But I can post the button. And let you know that if you post breastfeeding pictures or you want to breastfeed while you shop, eat, blog - go for it. It's not bothering me one bit.

While I considered joining in and posting a picture of the acres of dairy farm that have taken up residence, there is no baby yet. So I am refraining. No baby, no boobs. So sorry. I don't have access to a wide angle lens anyway.

I joke a lot about my breasts now. I mean, they are crazy huge now, and some days, all I can do is laugh because my shoulders and back hurt, and I look a bit cartoonish. Pictures of me look photoshopped with my tiny head and overwhelming chest. It's hard to find clothes that fit, and I look a good 20 pounds heavier than I really am, just because of the chest.

But to honest. Completely honest, I'm not laughing at them all the time. I'm not ashamed of them. I'm actually kind of proud of them. It's like they are really rising to the occasion. Well, they aren't really rising I suppose.

But they are real, and they are fabulous.

At least that's what I hear. From the guy, called Guy, sitting to my left.

Guy, and those construction workers I walked past downtown today. Awesome.