Breast is Best

I took pity on Mr Sleepyhead tonight and offered to shower the Blonde Bombshell.

It's an unwritten rule in our house that he showers the big one, and I am responsible for the little one.  I can be a bit derelict in my duties and every now and then have to throw Miss Curly Mop under the shower with her big sister and her daddy and then it turns into something approximating World War Three, It's a Knockout and that kids show from the 90s where people got slimed.

But with him resembling three of the seven dwarfs (Grumpy, Sleepy and Sneezy) and likely to pass out in the shower and crush her by mistake I thought it prudent to take the Bombshell upstairs to wash.

After we had washed and we were sitting on the floor of the shower splashing in the water she crawled into my lap and asked me:

'Are you going to make another baby?'

I gave her a cuddle and said 'Would you like that?'

She nodded and smiled and then, very gently, very seriously kissed the tops of my breasts.

The Blonde Bombshell has always been quite fascinated with my breasts, mostly I presume because she was old enough to witness me breastfeeding Miss Curly Mop, which I did for a full year.  Despite their not being quite as perky or full as they once were, they still hold a fair degree of fascination and mystery for her.  It's a pity this isn't necessarily true for all members of the household.

'And how many new babies would you like?' I asked.

'Ten,' she said.

'I don't think I could make another ten, but I will certainly try and make one.'

After we were dried and dressed and our teeth were brushed we came downstairs.  Mr Snoozy was asleep on the couch, still in his work clothes.  I watched the Bombshell approach her Daddy and very gently kiss him on his hand before running back to me for a bedtime story.

How could I not want another?