The above photo was taken with a Minolta Dimage E201 Digital on July 4, 2002 at Vinoy Park in downtown St. Petersburg, FL. It was digitally altered using the "Dooce Effect™" in Photoshop.

Reading about SJ's brassiere woes reminded me of my own "issues" lately. I'm a self-confessed Victoria's Secret junkie. I own a different bra in just about every color and style and have shelves -plural- to house all of them. So I've been a little depressed and dismayed as of late at the thought of going back into these again long-term. Just because I'm finally sporting that "E"-cup-ishness my early high school "AA"-cup could only dream of (I can't count the number of times I heard, "You're like a pirate's treasure - sunken chest"), doesn't mean I want to Cross My Heart either. Especially when said-bra is paired with these lovelies post-surgery. Don't you want me baby?

I don't think it's too much to ask that a nursing bra not snap open all at once in front (individual pull-down sides, please, thanks) — be sans underwire — skip the padding (because lord knows these new milk pillows have quite enough of that all on their own) — and provide me with actual breasts rather than torpedoes.

I did find a pretty, lacy nursing bra that totally fit the bill — but at $62.00 each, I'm gonna have to say "pass". Pay that much for something that will potentially be doused in spit-up and milk-drippings during and after feeding and pumping sessions? When asked "how much would you be willing to pay...?," I'm going to have to flat-out answer that sixty-two bucks ain't it folks. Thanks to a decent coupon at currentcodes.com, I did break down and purchase this beauty (in "Latte") for half the price today. We'll see how it works out, and if it does, I'll post a review soon...

And while we're somewhat on the subject of post-pregnancy idiocy...what is it with people that see a baby all decked out in blue and ask, "How old is SHE?" I was kicking myself after leaving the store yesterday having been asked that question not once, but twice — and not replying back, "Her PENIS is 17 days old today." Is it not enough my kid also has sideburns? What's it going to take — placing a copy of Playbabyboy in the carrier with him? Too bad this onesie will set you back an Andrew Jackson plus shipping and handling!

    

    

This mini-rant doesn't even begin to address the well-meaning but not the brightest bulb in the GE factory clerk at Home Depot yesterday, who approached us somewhere between masonry units and Spanish tiles to see if we needed help — then proceeded to pat my belly and ask if we'd just found out we were expecting — with my two babies less than a foot ahead of me in the shopping cart. I politely told her we actually had just found out that we'd delivered a baby boy two weeks ago and motioned toward the cart. Wonder if she'll ask anyone that question again?! It honestly doesn't bother me from a weight-perspective because I'm starting to lose weight faster after this pregnancy than with my last (and I was dancing around in my "skinny jeans" by 6-weeks postpartum with that one). It's just the insanity of it all. I would never dream of asking anyone if they were pregnant without the information being volunteered first. Much less actually going up and patting a total stranger's belly!

Last but not least, wishes for a very happy Fourth to those of you in the U.S. We'd planned to celebrate out of town with friends and yummy BBQ today, but a couple of l'il chillin's decided to have fireworks of their own overnight last night. Sometimes practicing the fine art of sleep is simply more important, so we decided to kick back at home and nap the day away with the boys instead. Fortunately we can always count on the neighborhood children to provide their own light and sound show for our entertainment pleasure. At 9 p.m. And 10 p.m. And 11 p.m. And midnight. And 2 a.m. And.....