This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

I know I said that I wouldn’t talk about them anymore, but if yours were as sore as mine you’d be talking about them, too

I didn’t think it was possible to shock my father any more than he has been Heather-shocked, but last night on the phone when I told him that I had cabbage in my bra he nearly choked as his lung got lodged in his throat. I figured that if the Internet knows this about me, shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he want to know?

Internet, I have cabbage in my bra.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, whatever meds they have that woman on, GET ME SOME! But it’s not the meds. If it were the meds I wouldn’t be putting the cabbage in my bra, I’d be talking to it and dressing it in pink baby dresses and posting pictures of its cute cabbage butt on my website.

When I mentioned that I was weaning Leta cold turkey I got about 200 emails from The Cabbage People. Did you know that cabbage is supposed to help relieve the swelling of engorged boobs? I didn’t either, but Holy Vegetable Garden, IT TOTALLY WORKS. This cabbage remedy is better than Advil, and although I’m still in heaping gobs of pain, I’m not in pre-cabbage pain, and pre-cabbage pain is so paralyzing that it hurt when Jon even thought about my boobs, let alone walked past me and blew wind near my aching, granite-hard breasts. I had to stop myself from screaming at him, “STOP WALKING! WHY ARE YOU WALKING? WHY MUST YOU INSIST ON WALKING? YOU JUST CAN’T GO AROUND WALKING, YOU INSANE WALKING WALKER!”

I bought a head of cabbage yesterday and I’ve already boobed through half of it. There are only a couple drawbacks to stuffing fresh leaves of cabbage in my bra, the main one being the lingering smell of hot, vegetable compost emanating from what were once these beautiful, life-giving vessels of sweetness. I can hear the neighborhood dogs leaping over their fences and clawing their hungry bodies up our driveway. They are scratching at our door, eager to pounce on my chest and dig out the dying, rotting cabbage carcass. Chuck is constantly sniffing my boobs.

And the other drawback is that I can’t refrain from telling everyone that I’ve got cabbage in my bra. I told the guy who was ringing up my cabbage purchase that I would be putting the cabbage in my bra, because he NEEDED TO KNOW. I challenge any of you to put cabbage in your bra and go a whole five minutes without talking about it. It can’t be done. The cabbage, just sitting there enveloping your boobs, unacknowledged? Are you a cabbage-hater? Could you be a more horrible, degenerate monster? THERE IS CABBAGE ON YOUR BOOBS. EMBRACE THE CABBAGE.

P.S. My mother got Leta to take the bottle on her very first fucking try, and she’s been taking the bottle ever since. My mother returns Leta to me every night about an hour before bedtime, and you’re not going to believe this, but Leta is a different kid. Totally different. She sits there like normal babies sit there, making normal baby sounds, sounds that aren’t goat-like or torturous. And her smiles are even bigger than before! HUGE SMILES. It’s like she’s SO GODDAMNED RELIEVED that she doesn’t have to suck on that stupid tit anymore. She must have cabbage in her bra!

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