A couple of nights ago, when undressing for bed, I discovered mittens in my bra. One on each side, nestled down the edge of my boobage.
Briefly baffled, I then remembered hurriedly popping them there on the school run that afternoon. They had retained a hint of dampness from that mornings soggy school run, and I took the split second decision that the most logical way to ensure they were warm and dry for Syd was to pop them in my bra.
Only the day had warmed up, his hands didn’t get cold, he didn’t request mittens, and therefore, forgotten about, in my bra they languished.
It is lucky that the rest of the day bought no opportunity for me to expose my be-gloved breasts to the world. I had no doctors appointment, no examination where I would suddenly and unexpectedly discover knitted items where there should be none. I visited no clothes shops with communal dressing rooms, nobody witnessed my faux
And I imagine perhaps my breasts looked a little perkier for the day, uplifted by knitwear, like a teenager who has enhanced her assets with tissues. Though they no doubt undid the supposed benefits of my expensive minimiser.
Really though, my thoughts on rediscovering the items I had hidden earlier in the day were:
How did I not notice they were still in there?
That’s motherhood for you, when you love somebody enough to warm their damp mittens in your bra, so that their fingers can be toasty.
Love Miss Cisco XXX