chesticles

jugs. midget ear-muffs. frost-detectors. sweater-stretchers. hooters. bee-stings. cans. whatever you call them, my boobs have become dinner table conversation. anyone close to me knows that my obsession with knockers started way before childbirth; i've always had an appreciation for a nice rack. but since rozzy came into this world, the focus on my melons has shifted. i now no longer view them as objects of desire, but i now view my tatas as 2 feed sacks dangling from my collarbones. it's amazing how having a child completely takes away any taboo when it comes to discussing mammaries. when your nips become the size of dinner-plates, you cannot help but realize that those funbags are there to serve a purpose other than being pushed up and shown off on a saturday night out on the town. now i'm gonna have to put them in a push-up just to break even. this week has been momentous and emotional for me... rozzy is now on the devil's juice - also known as formula - and this week is all about deflating the high-beams. but before the milk disappears, they will get enormous and i cannot wait. i will appreciate the engorgement that is about to ensue, as i know by this time 2 weeks from now my two dairy pillows will be more like dairy sheets blowing in the wind. t.j. keeps asking when the next kid will come. i tell him never. however, after having 2 flat hubcaps dangling around my waist for a while, i might give in just to get the godzilla lung protectors back.