Little G has been growing into a very girlie girl lately, and she was watching me with interest as I got dressed the other morning.
I had stopped by La Senza a little while ago and brought home a couple of pretty bras as pick-me-ups for spring. Little G picked out the orange and pink polka-dotted number with the pretty frills for me to wear. (The more frills the merrier when you're a sporting the equivalent of terrain of the Prairies as your boobage).
"Mommy, why do you wear a bra?", she asked.
"Well, because Mommy doesn't want to walk around just, well, hanging as it doesn't look so neat and tidy. It looks and feels better under my tops and T-shirts when I wear a bra."
Whew, was that a good answer?
Not that I have much to hang about. In actual fact I didn't want to admit that it was part of my optical illusion to make it look like I have something up there. I don't want to get into that whole body image discussion with her just yet. Hopefully the lack o' rack that her mom inherited will bypass her generation.
"Oh. Well then why doesn't Daddy wear a bra?"
Next she'll be suggesting a mirdle.