You Liked Them When You Were Little OR There's No Such Thing as TMI

In an attempt to overcome some of my body image issues, I've been wearing a bikini to the beach. It's kind of like looking at spiders if you have arachnophobia - if you take the fear head on, you'll overcome it, right? Who knew how much this would backfire.

The Moose is 10 years old and was adamant about me wearing a one piece. "Mom, it would be so embarrassing if you wear a bikini!" Obviously this comment is disturbing. Am I such a monstrosity that wearing a two piece swimsuit would emotionally scar my child for life? God help me, get me some Slim Fast! Because I believe in completely understanding my latest annual review from my child, I dig deeper.

Me: "Okay, you have to tell me what is so awful about me wearing a bikini."

Moose, groaning: "Mom, I CAN'T tell you."

Me: "Yeah, well that's not going to work so I'll just start asking. Is it my legs?"

Moose: "No."

Me: "My tummy?"

Moose: "No."

Me: "My tattoo?"
Moose: "No."

Me: "My scar?" (I have a 7 inch vertical scar on my stomach courtesy of Rocco. Some push present.)

Moose: "No."

Me: "My belly button ring?"

Moose: "No."

(My twenties were awesome! I did a lot of cliche college student body art.)

Me: "I'm out of ideas."

Well, after more probing from my husband, it turns out my boobs are the culprit. Yes folks, my boobs. The one thing that I don't have much of was the one thing Moose found too embarrassing to be around. Unfortunately there's not much I can do about them and informed Moose as much. If boobs were the issue, he could just suck it up.

So now I go to the beach in a yellow bikini (go big or go home is my motto), a little happy that my boobs could actually attract notice for once. Except that backfires with the Rock.

As we are walking up to the Tropic Snow stand, I am physically accosted....by my four year old, who has taken a handful of my boob. To be honest, the first thing in my head was "what now?" Instead this conversation followed:

Me: "Rock, what are you doing?! You can't grab my boob."

Rock: "Yes I can." (Always so literal...)

Me: "Yes I see that, but you need to let go of it. You don't grab my boobs."

Rock: "But boobs are my favorite!"

This piece of enlightenment earned a solid 20 second pause from me.

Me: "Well, that's great that you like boobs, but you can't grab mine."

Rock: "I like them and those boobs are mine."

Me: "Those boobs haven't been yours in over 3 years. They are mine now."

Perfect time for my husband to overhear this conversation and join in. From this point forward, he and Rock argued over who had ownership of my boobs. I cut in to remind them that the said boobs were indeed mine, with a warning look at my husband that hopefully conveyed to end the conversation if boobs were his favorite too.

Obviously I have underestimated the power of my boobs. I breastfed both kids with them which is a pretty amazing feat of nature. (And now understanding how they feel about them, their eating habits make a lot more sense.) I never thought they would cause so much controversy for my older son or fascination with my younger son - and my husband. Being a mom, they sort of became a utilitarian feature on my body, one I don't give too much thought about anymore, especially after the breastfeeding makeover they received. While I'm not excited that they incite mortification in adolescent boys or that my youngest has already established himself as a boob man, I'm a little happy that they still are noticed. It's a wonder more superheros aren't women.