Well shit. Don’t let people tell you that having a blog and keeping up with it is easy. This is especially true when you have a full-time job, are a full-time dad, are a full-time husband, and love to live a hands on life. So with all that, I will just apologize and get to the show. Also, let’s just take this all-in good fun. Let’s not over think it and just enjoy some laughs. (people are just too serious these days)
Sore boobs. Now to be clear, I have never really had ‘sore boobs’. I have had sore pecks from working out but I can pretty well damn guarantee that I don’t know about the ‘boob’ aspect of it. I’m sure you are saying ‘well duh, you’re a man. You don’t have boobs.’ To that I would say ‘seriously? Have you looked around the world here recently? Men are rocking boobs, or more commonly referred to as ‘moobs’, every day.’ Funny, but not really funny.
For me when my wife was pregnant, one of the hardest things was noticing the growth of her sweater puppets. I think as men we all notice that when the mother of our kid starts incubating that little tax deduction, those snuggle pups also start to grow. And because we as men are all still primitive beings (cavemen) compared to our more advanced female counterparts, we notice every little bit of change in size of those pecan sandies. Honestly, I think with our first pregnancy I noticed a difference in size after the first millimeter of growth, and basically turned into a Neanderthal. Started drooling and shit, banging my fist on my chest. I can remember her walking around the house in a lower cut shirt and I caught a slowmo glance of them bitties in the sun light… and boom instant transformation. ‘Boobies, me want boobies. Me want boobies now (insert grunting noises)’ and then I just clubbed her over the head and dragged her upstairs. Haha just kidding… we didn’t make it upstairs. Real civilized like, I’m classy like that. To this day, I still don’t know why it happened, but I’ll be damned if the same shit didn’t happen with baby number 2. I would say that only difference is that the second time around I knew it was coming. Right after we found out we were pregnant, I immediately put myself on DEFCON 1 boobie alert, all hands on d*ck (I or E, you make the call #wink). I was giddy like a little kid on Christmas day on a float with Santa at Disney World eating fresh baked cookies while having the biggest damn Mickey balloon tied to my wrist (serious, why do kids go so crazy for those damn balloons). I’m not trying to take this to some weird place where we are going to just drool over boobies, but I wanted to be real about the topic. I’m just trying to bring awareness to a sensitive (pun intended) subject.
So anyway, you might be able to tell how I feel about my wife’s mammary glands. But let’s be real, our baby mommas DO NOT feel the same about those naughty pillows as we do. Apparently, so I’m told, they are very sensitive and should NEVER be touched. Seriously, WTF? It’s like that scene in Monsters University where they are explaining the toxicity challenge and pull out the stinging glow urchin saying, ‘Trust me when I say you are not going to want to touch this bad boys.” and Art says ‘I wanna touch it.’ (yep, ruined that scene for rest of your life. You’re welcome.) Yes, that is how we dumb men feel, you say ‘No’ we hear ‘Sure, go ahead and fondle my peaky blinders.’ You can’t leave a kid in a candy store and not expect him to put something in his mouth. I remember as the pregnancies went on, the less I was able to partake in the joys of them scooby snacks. My wife was walking in the house from work one day and I slipped a glance at her super big gulps and she immediately yelled out ‘damn it, I told you they are sensitive right now.’ So basically, with all our pregnancies its been a don’t look and don’t touch policy in our house. Now based off what you are reading now you are probably guessing that it all got better after the baby was born (and after our 6-week healing). Hahaha I would like to tell you that it did but I’m afraid not. I was able to look but still not touch. There is precious milk in those rubber baby buggy bumpers, you can’t risk messing that up. I did however one time with our first child, reach up while we were in the mix of things and give one of those humpty dumpling a good squeeze. BAD IDEA homie. First off, my wife did not enjoy it. Second off, I caused her mount St. Helens to spring a leak. Yep, I ended up giving myself my own little milk bukaki (look it up if you don’t know. Oh and use Google incognito window, trust me) which I affectionately referred to as the ‘mookaki’.
Truth be told, I don’t even like large boobs. Who out there really wants to hold that beautiful, soft, smooth, warm, delicious… ahhhhhhhhhh I got to have’em… give me them breastasis. (throwback to in living color). All jokes aside, fellas take it easy on the cha cha bingos. Trust me, it will all pay off in the end.
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