As I write this, I can see my breasts shimmering. They are gleaming at me from below, happy and sparkling. You see, there is glitter on my nipples.
I should probably explain... it's the festive season where everything that was once muted and monotone comes to life with sparkle. With a lot of sparkle.
Our Christmas tree takes a place of pride in our living room and is adorned with miniature sparkling teddy bears, sparkling baubles and sparkling stars. We have sparkly Christmas cards hanging (by hanging, I mean raining shimmer) and we have the craft box open. Permanently. Because at this time of year, there is always something to decorate, something to make, something to create. And no piece of festive artwork would be complete without every clean freak's nemesis: glitter.
I saw the sparkle in my daughter's eyes as her little hands unscrewed the lid from the pot of glitter on the shelf at the craft shop. I watched as she poked her tiny fingers into the shimmer, pulling them out as if covered in magical dust. I also watched as the pot slipped through her now-silver fingers and a thick cloud of sparkle filled the air. I watched as the cloud fell, like bright snowflakes, settling onto everything within a two-mile radius. I saw my daughter's delight, not dismay, at this beautiful mess.
So after we had made our apologies, bought the glitter and left the shop, we walked, hand in hand, back to the car. And the glitter followed us every step of the way. Once upon a time, I wouldn't have been overly enthralled about this experience. But our children give us an opportunity to see the world through new eyes...
- There was glitter under my feet and all over my expensive new boots. But this meant that I made sparkly footprints everywhere I went for weeks.
- There was glitter on the car seat, the steering wheel and even the car's ceiling. But I'd taken my husband's car on this particular trip.
- There was bath-resistant glitter all over my daughter for days. But this meant that every time she caught her reflection, she would stop and dance to see the glitter shimmering in the light.
You see, there is magic in cheap glitter. And when sparkly festive decorations meet little hands, little hands will inevitably meet a little mouth. And sooner or later, that little mouth will be asking for mama milk... with a side of sparkle.
So I am writing this with my breasts gleaming at me from below. And these sparkling breasts are not airbrushed or plastered across a 10 foot billboard, as the usual glimmering cleavage seems to be. These breasts are normal breasts. They are normal, milk-making, baby-feeding breasts. They are sparkly, shimmery, much-adored breasts. You see, there is glitter on my nipples.
This post originally appeared on Mama Bean Parenting.