The word around our house, lately, is breasts.
Breasts are on everyone's mind.
The girls are hard at work growing them, my son is mortified by the mere mention of them, I'm crying over what's become of them, and my husband, Greg, is obsessed with them. OK, it's not what you think, this obsession. Right now, she's locked in her room with a measuring tape. I understand the importance of regular mammograms. And it's not vanity that keeps me from making the appointment, though I'll admit I'm devastated by the thought of anyone, even a legally blind nurse who looks like Aunt Bea, assessing my naked body.