Training Bra Chronicles: Booby Wars!
I am one lucky lady. I have three wonderful daughters who are the bees knees as far as I’m concerned. That being said, I am no fool. I know I’m on the precipice of some pretty rocky times ahead. When my husband tells people that we have three girls close in age, they offer him their condolences and ask if he has a basement with a locking door. There’s no denying it, the next six to eight years may be more about survival than anything else.
Our oldest daughter, who recently turned twelve, is “developing.” She is pretty relaxed about the whole process now thanks to the purchase of a few hoodie sweat shirts, but when her body first started changing things got a little crazy at our house.
It all began with her cornering me in the laundry room about six months ago.
“Mom I need to show you something, I think something’s wrong.” I was expecting a sliver or a hangnail, she’s a bit of a hypochondriac, but instead I was faced with some serious nudity. I tried hard not to laugh.
Lesson #1: Never laugh. Everything is life and death when you are a girl between the ages of ten and eighteen. Seriously laughing at them just pisses them off.
“They’re not the same,” she was pointing to her breasts and no they were not the same. My little girl was growing up.
“That’s normal hon.” I find myself saying this on a daily basis to all three of them, not that it helps.
Lesson #2: Nothing is normal. They are the first one anything has ever happened to and should be treated as such. A parent requires a constant look of shock and sympathy when anything is being related to them by a tween girl.
“Are you sure?” She looked like I was totally feeding her a line.
“No woman’s boobs are the same size, perfect symmetry only exists on Barbie.” She gave me that confused “I just smelled dog poo” look and left the room. Great now Barbie-like perfection has been introduced as a goal. Crap!
So I resorted to what any educated, bewildered mom would do and I ordered a book online about girls and their bodies and asked all three of my daughters to sit down with me and have a look at it. Big mistake!
Lesson #3: It’s a younger sisters’ duty to tease their older sister mercilessly. Do not give them extra ammo.
So we cracked open the book and headed straight to the “Your changing body,” section. For the record, when I purchased this book, I thought it was a masterpiece, a tomb that had every answer to my daughters’ upcoming uncomfortable questions, with accompanying pictures. I never thought it might be wielded as a weapon of mass humiliation. Silly, naïve me.
Our younger daughters are ten-year-old twins and I think there may be some validity to the whole “evil twin” concept. They just take turns being the evil one. This time it was the smaller of the two
After our lovely mother-daughters chat I put the book on the bookshelf and encouraged my girls to pull it out anytime and wandered away feeling like my “World’s best Mom,” mug was sure to be on its way. I really should have thought out that whole “pull it out anytime” comment a little better.
Lesson #4 Be specific. It will bite you in the butt otherwise.
That evening we had friends over for dinner, and you can just guess what book got trotted out for all to see. But wait, it gets better. As if my oldest daughter’s cheeks weren’t red enough, the evil twin for the day thought it might be a good idea to flip to the page depicting how your breasts develop and ask people what they thought her older sisters’ boobies looked like? She had a picture picked out but wanted a second opinion. See Lesson #3.
Needless to say our house was a bit of a booby battle ground for a few days after that. Surprisingly the book remains on the shelf for all to see, but a discussion about appropriate viewing times has since been had. My husband is considering moving to the barn until they all turn twenty-one.