Yo-Yo Ma-Ma

"For three strange days
I had no obligations.
My mind was a blur,
I did not know what to do.
I think I lost myself
When I lost my motivation.
Now I'm walking 'round the city
Just waiting to come to."

-- Three Strange Days, School of Fish

This shirt is ugly as hell:



And I'll tell you why, besides the obvious clue of its appearance, but it's kind of a long story.

Zoe is off in New York with my sister. I'm kind of getting used to all her traveling this summer, but not really. I have dreams where I wake up because she's shaking me awake to ask if she can have something to drink because it's 3 in the afternoon and I haven't gotten my ass out of bed yet to feed the child, but I'm tired as hell and I wind up yelling my head off at her, and then I ACTUALLY wake up and she's not really there, in the home, and I realize I miss the kid. And in actuality it's not 3, it's usually closer to 2.

And I miss yelling at her.

It's not the same yelling at her over the phone, because I can hear all the static of her putting the phone in her lap, and then a long pause when I'm done, and then her "Yes, Mommy," when she thinks it's safe to put the phone to her ear again.

So, to distract myself from all my missing Zoe, I did what I wanted to do back during the month she was with her father: I went clothes shopping.

This is no easy feat for me. I hate it. And last week I was in a car accident, so I've been in a considerable amount of pain. But after visiting my doctor and getting all drugged up, I had little excuse to not go out and replace all my torn undies and ill-fitting jeans.

It was not so much a surprise for me to learn I had gone up a size in jeans. What I have been in denial about is my boobs.

From the time my chest sprouted as a teenager until I had Zoe, I was a perfect size B. I jumped two cup sizes with her, and I'm guessing I jumped another when I had Jacob.

I couldn't find anything that fit me without showing off these unwanted assets. On my way out of the fitting room I spotted a top on the discard rack and took it back in to try it on. It was baggy as all hell, but it didn't scream HELLO I HAVE BOOBS, so I took it off and looked at the tag. 2X!!!!

I headed straight for the women's department. No more misses, juniors, or just plain old female clothes for me.

What I ended up going home with was a bag full of clothes that was not quite flattering, but at least I had some tops that would downplay my lack of proportion.

When it came time to hang these clothes, I had to purge my closet. That's when I came across the aforementioned beast of a shirt. I was reminded of the time when I suddenly grew boobs, well into adulthood, and one of the few shirts that fit me was that hideous number. And I wore it every time , it came out of the dryer because... it was one of the few shirts that fit me. I hated it when I bought it. I hated it each time I wore it.

I can't wear most of my closet now. My boobs bust open the button-down shirts, and now my ill-fitting bras make the rest of my clothes look like I'm busting out of them.

As much as I enjoy my children, there's no way in hell I'm having another one. I can't afford the additional boob space. And the weight roller coaster is weighing on me.

No way in hell I can handle more kids without ending up tipping over involuntarily. And as much as I miss Zoe now, I can't imagine kissing her or Jacob goodbye once their so-called adulthood kicks in.