Tend Your Titties Ladies

Boobs
Tits
Jihooblies
Tatas
Fun bags
Sweater Puppets

Also a source of endless anxiety.

It all started as we went through puberty. I don’t know about you but I kept wondering when they would be done growing. Are they stopping now? Or how about now? Or maybe now that I can no longer see my feet… maybe? They seemed HUGE and, as it turns out, they actually were huge. Carrying around this new front end load took some getting used to.

Then over time, we figured out their power, didn’t we? Everybody likes boobs. Even gay guys think boobs are fun.

For many of us, the fleshy milk dispensers get handed over to the little humans we grew in our bellies. Those who breastfeed have different timelines for how long they are willing to have a little latched on suckerfish. The rule applied by women in my family has always been that breastfeeding ended promptly at the first bite. Time for a sippy cup of warm milk and coffee kid, you are done.

Then when the ravages of aging and childbearing are finally done with the girls, they are often nothing more than a wizened shell of their former selves. Like an aging prizefighter, they need to step out of the ring and retire… no longer powerful, we tuck them into sensible bras and sweater sets.

And THAT is when we start to realize that maybe we have taken them for granted. Maybe we didn’t think to do self-exams for lumps and bumps. I mean after breastfeeding, you get a little sick of hauling them out all the time. Who could blame a girl for not wanting to explore the damage in the light of day?

But face it we must. Good health is our job as Moms. In ourselves, our kids, the sweet dope who fathered them, our own parents  – we care about everybody. But we usually worry more about them than ourselves.

Here is the thing. They need us to be around. Their worst nightmare is losing us, even more than our own fears of illness in our loved ones.

Here comes the sermon: If your health care professional says it is time for the annual mammary squish, do it. PAPS and squishes are no fun, but suck it up, princess. Put on your big girl panties and make an appointment.

Frankly, my hair appointments take up more time than a mammogram, yet I find time for a full cut and colour every 8 (ahem maybe 6) weeks. An annual poke and peek is no big deal.

Big or small, saggy or fully paid bolt-ons, they all need to be tended. Get your lady parts checked.

Public service message brought to you by the person in your life who loves your boobs more than you do. Now I am going to go make some Mamograham Cookies.