A valediction preceding mourning

Posted by jdg | Monday, March 27, 2006 |

Wood was talking today about how it's been almost two years since Juniper was conceived. "It's funny," she said. "From the moment your sperm penetrated my egg, my body has nourished her; first for ten months inside me, and then six months outside me where she ate nothing but what my body made for her. And only now, almost two years later, she's almost ready to live completely independent of me."

"Does that make you sad?" I asked.

"A little," she said. See, Juniper looks like she's starting to wean herself. You can see it in how much she's starting to eat at mealtimes and how little she eats now at night, but the biggest evidence can be seen in Wood's boobs. Goddamn it they're getting smaller. So trust me, any sadness is fully mutual. I wish Juniper would have consulted me before making such a big life decision.

I was pleasantly surprised when pregnancy boobs came to our house. I have never really been a boob man, but I am still a man. Breastfeeding boobs were even more welcome than pregnancy boobs, despite occasional offensive and violent usage. But now weaning boobs are here, and even they're packing their bags.

And I'm going to miss them all so damn much.

We had some good times, me and them boobs. [cue music---a Coldplayesque piano overture; cue slideshow].

There we are back in June, 2004, getting ready to go to some summer weddings, and I'm helping Wood shop for dresses. She tries on a couple with incredibly low cleavage. Whoa, mama.

[the music soars, typical montage sequence soundtrack, like a bad Green Day ballad]

There we are at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk in October. Bikini top, sexy little pregnant belly. Yum.

[The music slows, bass-heavy, with a guitar on the waa waa pedal]

Better get the kids out of the room, folks. Yeah. Oh yeah. Uh-huh. Good times, great times.

[The music softens, sentimental now, like the music in a commercial for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints]

There they are breastfeeding Juniper for the first time. There we all are on the plane.


Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know, I am not one to get all sentimental, but I am really going to miss these boobs. I plead with Wood, "But Juniper just learned to call them by name!" (instead of calling Wood boobahs now, she will rest her head on her chest, look into her eyes and say, 'booboobs'). "That's part of the reason we need to wean," she replies. "Do you really want your daughter, when we're out in public, reaching for my tits and saying 'booboobs! booboobs!'?

Then I get really desperate: "But Wood, she's only known you with big ones. Aren't you afraid that it would be like false advertising to let them get back to normal, that she wouldn't love you the same if they shrink?"

"I'm sure we'll both survive."

So it looks like for me and the gigantoboobs, our days together are numbered. [cue music, a wistful acoustic number, cue long slow motion video of Wood's torso running through a field of wheat] Adieu, adieu sweet boobs! Salaam! Zai jian! With any luck (in about two years) we'll be seeing you again. I'll survive on the memories, boobs, particularly of that one night, when. . .

[Wood abruptly shuts the curtain]