The Boobage Incident

I saw some amazing boobs over the past weekend. Like, hawt boobs. Really, mine don't even compare.

I was feeling a little left out, envious even. Hawt boobs in corsets? Really, I'm uber jealous at those who pulled it off. Even more jealous of those who pulled it off while wearing stripper heels.

Then I came home to my 3 year old who clearly missed me after my 4 day absence. Missed me to the point that he's developed a new little habit. One that he only indulges in when in public places, naturally.

He feels me up.

Seriously. He hurls himself in my lap, says something cute and nonsensical, then grabs both boobs and just sorta hangs out there.

Ok, so yeah. They are soft. They are squishy. They are large enough that they are hard to miss. But really? The kid hasn't breast fed in a really fuckin' long time. What the sudden interest in my boobage is, I couldn't begin to guess.

I guess I can be thankful he's not lifting up or pulling down my shirt to get at them. Or calling them nickles. Which is what he calls his own nipples.

I think it's time to have a 'my dance space, your dance space' conversation with him. Of course, him being only 3, the Dirty Dancing reference will be completely wasted on him. But any day in which I can refer to that movie is a good day, so I'm gonna run with it.