Butterflies & Flowers-It’s Not What You Think

Last week I was on the rag.

For those of you unfamiliar with that analogy, let me break it down for you: I was on my period, mother nature dropped her bombshell, my menses came to pass. Got it? Okay.

So I was on the rag and I walked into my bathroom and lo and behold, my eye balls landed on the little basket full of tampons and pads and shit that sits unobtrusively in the corner once a month.

And I got really pissed off.

Here’s why.

Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to put butterflies and flowers on feminine hygiene product packaging?

Let me be clear: pieces of my body are flowing out at a high rate of speed. I’m cramping so hard, at any given moment my ovaries are going to rip their way out of my body like a scene out of Alien.  I don’t wanna see no stinking flowers. (said like Al Pacino in Scarface)

scarface-remake-director

I want to see a skull and crossbones with a bio hazard symbol.

I want to see a little note reminding me that I really do love my husband and not to smother him in his sleep.

I want to find a coupon good at any grocery store for a free bottle of wine AND a gallon of ice cream.

I want to unwrap a tampon and immediately hear the voices of a thousand tiny angels singing in perfect harmony that it’s almost over and then make it rain glitter in celebration of the fact.

I mean really, is all of that too much to ask??

Because I just. can’t. even. with the damn butterflies and flowers.

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This Can’t Be Right – The Mysteries of Mom Boobs

I know I’m not the only mom that has ever questioned: what happened to my boobs?

These are not the fun bags I remember from years past.

First of all let’s face it, they’re not “fun” anymore. These two fatty areas on our chests used to be perky. They resided where they were supposed to; up HIGH. Personally I like to refer to my breasts as rocks in socks. Tube socks if we’re being specific.

Yes, once upon a time, they were the wells of life that nourished my children. And it was a beautiful thing.

But now, now they more closely resemble a deflated balloon animal. A snake maybe.i-feel-deflated

I hate putting on a bra. It’s a cardio workout all of its own. And it’s not like I have been gifted with anything above average. It’s the simple fact that to make those puppies look halfway decent one must perform the tasks of lifting, tucking, squishing and popping to try and make those ‘ol things fit somewhat comfortably in the cups.

And what’s up with laying down? Please tell me dear reader that you know what I’m getting ready to say. You know that I’m going to talk about the way these pesky lumps of tissue fall to the sides upon laying down without a brassiere on. Somehow they magically find their way to our armpits. It’s almost like boobs are the female version of testicles and they’re withdrawing inward.

Funny story.

One night my husband and I had just gotten into bed. Another long day down, now it was time to sleep then repeat in the a.m. We are not cuddlers; in fact, both of us prefer to sleep without being touched at all. But on this particular night my husband was in a bit of a spooning mood so I humored him.

Picture this: I’m laying on my side, my back to his front. He snakes his right arm around me and wants to hold on to something if you catch my drift.

But there was nothing there.

Why?

Because they had receded to the recesses of the armpits. The left one at least. His hand was resting on the bones and skin of my chest. So I did what any woman who wants to humor her husband would do.

I guided his hand up, up, up and over to my underarm. Then I patted his hand and said, “there she is.”

It was a laugh out loud moment, and you know what I say: Always end your day with laughter.

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. Do you have a funny boob moment you’d like to share? Please do and we can all laugh together!