I was nearly 37 when Daughter was born. Depending on her time to enter "womanhood" and my time to gracefully exit said state, we could be gearing up to have major hormonal battles around these here parts in a couple of years. Who will win? A menopausal-raging, already loosely wound mother or a young teen with her whole life ahead of her?
Stay tuned. It could prove to be an interesting battle.
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What made this come to mind most recently is Daughter's desire for -- and, yikes!, true need for -- a real bra coupled with my desire to be free of such restraints. I hate wearing a bra. And, please, don't offer up any fitting advice or any such nonsense. The fact is that I just don't like the constraint. I never have. And the older I get -- and maybe the more I need it -- the less I'm putting up with it.
So while Daughter relishes in her new-found contraption...
...I relish in my own. Sagging truth be damned.
[Okay, any bets on what kind of odd searches find this post? Move along people, these photos can easily be found on Target and Banana Republic.]