Boobs... And what else do you want?

Today I would like to talk about boobs.

Those of you with an empty uterus, feel free to take a shot anytime you read the word "boobs". That's today's secret word.

I was asked out at the gym today.

More specifically, I believe my breasts were asked out at the gym today and the rest of me was sort of an unfortunate tag along.

I have big boobs. If/when I get pregnant if my boobs have the audacity to swell, I will be in that special category of women that have to special order their bras online from an Amish woman who mysteriously has an Etsy shop.

I mean, all of me is big (eek), I have bug eyes and my hair left untended (which is most of the time) looks like an inexplicable afro, but a good 50% of the time I thoroughly enjoy having big boobs.  They look good in a corset and give me a distinction in what would otherwise just be a blob in leggings.  However, the downside apart from trying to fit into clothes, small spaces, or trying to go underwater without floating, is that when I get a compliment from a stranger, the compliment doesn't belong in flowery poetry but rather hairy retro 80s porn (I believe it's the big boob/hair combo).

Though I am old and married, I enjoy being looked at (not boob specific, but just looked at) just as much as the next girl, it can be a nice little compliment.  I do not like being oggled.  I once had a man nearly run me off the road to tell me I had 'the nicest tits!'.  I would prefer compliments I can imagine Ryan Gosling saying in a movie, not compliments I imagine him saying late at night in the dirtiest most shameful parts of my mind.

(The irony being I'm so disgusting at the gym - sweaty, no make-up, inexplicable hair - and I'm being mentally motorboated by men.  I get dressed up to go to gay karaoke/line dancing night with Mr. T, and not one lesbian hits on me.  Sad face.  What gives lesbians?  I'm absolutely charming and I love home depot just as much as any girl with a crew cut! but I digress).

My problem at the gym is the damn bicycle. I have the best sports bra on the planet, in my opinion, however as my husband put it when I was jumping up and down and asking if I looked like a low budget porn, "the problem is you have more cleavage than most women have breasts". And on the bike there's a lot of up-and-down and side-to-side happening, and on more than one occasion a man has spent far too long on the equipment in front of my bike staring with the intensity usually reserved for doing taxes.  The shower I take when I get home isn't always from my own sweating.

And I love a good pair of boobs!  Don't get me wrong.  I am weirdly hypnotized by a good pair.  However the hypnosis lasts about 2 seconds before I think "stork, you're being creepy".  If you don't share the creepy hypnosis I'm talking about, just think.. it doesn't even have to be sexual.  If a disgusting man were on a treadmill and his balls were out and shaking left to right, you'd have to look for a second because something ridiculous is happening.  I just don't understand the full on unbreakable boob hypnosis.

Mr. T has been ill so I went gyming by myself today, and for some idiotic reason (I still have a kidney infection! what am I doing?) did the damn free bicycle peep show. I purposely did not look up at the boys working out in front of me, so I only saw shorts.  As I was leaving, a man asked me what I was listening to so intently on my ipod.  We had a 30 second conversation about how I think Kanye West is a dick but his music makes me appropriately workout angry.

Then said man followed me out to my car, and I stupidly still didn't realize what was going on because I'm a believer in that old theatre adage, "All the men are gay, and every man plays with man parts". Then one incredibly uncomfortable car-leaning conversation later, my breasts (heaven forbid he look up.. I honestly doubt the man knew my hair color) were asked to coffee.  I being the mouth responsible for speaking on my boobs behalf explained that my boobs were, in fact, married, as evidenced by my rings.  But thank you.

No more bicycle for me without Mr. T.

...Boobs.

Mr T and I had an interesting conversation many gym trips ago about how there are some women who like to disappear into their children and we don't want to be like that.  I've since been continuing that discussion in my head.

I was talking about how on my Facebook feed I'm constantly being sonogram snipered, and there are a few people who I've had to remove from my newsfeed even though they're lovely people, because it's a constant neverending loop of how their life had no meaning before their kids, it apparently still doesn't have any meaning apart from their kids, and how the rest of us... well, we just don't understand.  (So even though they obviously don't mean it as such, everyday their messages say to me "your life has no meaning, but mine does").

Let me state clearly: obviously I want a kid, I want a kid something awful.  And obviously when/if I finally do get there, I'm going to completely disappear into mommyville for several years, and I'm sure no one will be able to shut me up about it.  This is not a 'better than them' thing.

This is a.. what else is there?  Thing.

Because babies are easy to disappear into, especially for those of us who have worked so hard to get them. They're entirely dependent on you, it's an experience you worked so hard for.. I have so much love for just my hypothetical kid I can't begin to imagine what will happen when I can feel them moving around in my belly much less when they're in front of me.  Indefinable love.

But babies turn into kids, kids turn into teenagers, teenagers turn into adults.  Slowly but surely they start to become people of their own, and when they do, I just think it's a good idea to still be a person of your own.

I want to be the kind of Mom that totally smothers their kid with love and makes their life about them.  I want my kid to know that they are my greatest, proudest, best accomplishment.  But I also, when they get to be an adult, want them to be able to say "damn my Mom's an interesting lady".

I'd still like to be me.  I'd still like to be funny.  I'd still like to write.  I'd still like to have something that I'm proud of aside from them.

This is super important to me if I have a child.  And if I let the dark part of my mind speak above a whisper and say "what if you don't have a child..." ...all the more important.

Because someday when I look back and ask myself what I did the last ten years, I don't want "tried to make a baby" be the only thing I can say.  And should I make a baby, maybe this is one of those things that you're not supposed to say out loud so judge if you must, I don't want to look back and have "I raised a kid" be the only thing I can say. Most important thing I can say, of course, just not the only thing.

So I'm thinking in the near future I'm gonna make a list.  My goals in terms of family-making are pretty fucking clear, I've got that down pat.  But in any scenario - whether I end up with triplets or I end up ::shudder:: childless - the question becomes no less important.

What the fuck else do I want?

.....Not boobs.  I have enough of those.