Got good food? I’ll make milk

It’s hard to keep track of all the different parts of my body that have changed. Never mind what’s changed back. Who am I?

The changes I want to keep, clear skin and slow-growing leg hair, are both no more. I’m a mom with a head of straight and curly hair. My leg hair is out of control. When I manage to have a shower and there’s time to wash my hair OR shave my legs, I prioritize my hair.

My feet have gone from a size 10 to a size 11. Looks-wise they’re the same. So no vanity issues. Size-wise I have a problem. I’ve never been a crazy shoe-shopper person, but I like them and I wear them. I’ve been a size 10 for 20 years. That’s a lot of time to amass a reasonable shoe collection. Now all I can do is look at it. Don’t get me started on my two-year-old ski boots.

My boobs are another story. They’re huge compared to pre-pregnancy, but not that big compared to other milk-filled boobs. They used to just hang out and keep to themselves. Now they’re acting like they’re running the show. They’re colluding with my subconscious mind.

The other night Captain and I pick up takeout. We get home and I take my shirt off. Our place is officially a topless joint. If I’m not nursing, then I’m letting them air out.

I chow down on my salad with spicy peanut dressing. It’s so good! I hear something drip on the floor, did I spill salad dressing? I look down. Nothing. I continue to devour my salad. More dripping. What’s happening? I look down again. Milk is spurting out of both boobs.

My oxytocin is flowing.

Captain rushes to get me a burp cloth. He tells me,

“I definitely don’t enjoy my food as much as you do.”

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