"They are bumps, not boobs..."

Backing up a bit. There are a few things that I don't think I am ready for, and taking over the mommy role in the area of maturing ladies is one of them. Weeks ago Rebekah started showing "bumps." Ok, truth be told is was probably months ago but I have been blind to them, like an Ostrich with his head in the sand I am sure. Weeks ago "things" became prevalent enough that we needed to do something.

Back then I posted a small post on my face book whining about it and seeking advice. I got some great advice then but was able to put it out of my mind when we found some "bras" in the "to grow into" bin of clothes. It took a lot of training (pardon the pun) to get Rebekah to understand that the fact that she was wearing a bra was not something she needed to share with every stranger she met. She was excited about them and has worn them without ceasing. The couple we found in the bin have now gotten too small and we are not comfortable in them anymore. I suppose I should say Rebekah is not comfortable any more as I never was comfortable with these happenings. The need to do something else was, um, apparent.

Last night I again sought advice from my face book friends on where and how a daddy can go get a bra for his physically maturing (but mentally holding strong at 3-5yrs)little girl. I got some really awesome advice about going to Nordstroms or Macys to be properly "fitted." I was told that the ladies there will make it a great experience and if we go to Nordstroms there is even a great place to go get spectacular deserts when we are done, really making it "an event." I am pretty sure that at least daddy doesn't need deserts for this to be "an event!"

What I came to realize from all of the posts there is that I was asking for the wrong thing. "Fitted" seems to imply cup sizes and all of that. We (and I do me WE here) don't need that, at least not yet. What we really need is a training bra, a sports bra, a camisole or the like. After all, as I posted there, they are bumps, not boobs. Apparently this made things a bit easier and relief was upon me when I realized that we could just go to Fred Meyer and easily... pick something up. Today was another hospital day with Rebekah so she and I went to the hospital, out to lunch, and then to Fred Meyer.

After the realization that we didn't really need a bra and all of the associated "fitting" I was ready for this. It would be no big deal. Just like buying a pair of socks. And if I kept telling myself these things I would be okay, right? Actually I was okay - right up until we walked into the clothing department. Then it hit me, like a brick wall. I literally stopped and felt my heart beat increasing. I forced myself to walk forward but it was like I was walking through a pool of water. I know it sounds stupid, but it was weird; it caught me by surprise.

Walking down the aisle Rebekah spotted the adult women's bras right away. She hollered out "BRAS!!!!!!!" and took off running as best as her little body can run. I trudged along behind her as fast as my body would allow me. We looked around a bit and it was clear that we were not in the right section, but we were close. With the help of a matronly store clerk we found the children's section. There were a lot of kiddo bras (with cups) there and we easily avoided them and focused in on the sports bra type that she has been wearing. The large was obviously too large and we couldn't tell between the small and the medium, although the small seemed to me like what she had grown out of. We took a small and a medium into the dressing room and found out the medium was fine. I am actually surprised that Rebekah didn't ask me if she could wear the one she tried on. They were on sale buy one (two pack) get the next 1/2 off. At least now we were talking something I could relate to.

Rebekah put them into her basket and proudly, though silently thank Heavens, carried them around the store while we did our other shopping. She was kind enough to clarify to the teenage male clerk that these were not for daddy by telling him "my bras, my bras!" She got them in her own bag and walked back to the car full of excitement. I am not sure what happened as we got home as there were women in the house to deal with that (thank you Jenny and Aunt Molly) and I could quickly escape out to the barn to help Blair change some tires in the mud, or something more manly.

Yes, I know this probably should have been a posting more about Rebekah and less about daddy, but to tell the truth, Rebekah wasn't affected by this and daddy was...just a little bit.