You know that you’ve reached a special place in your life as a quote-unquote mommy-blogger when: a) you really want to write about your breasts, and not in the context of breastfeeding, and b) you cannot write about your breasts because other people have already written about them and the topic of your breasts is already so freaking yesterday.

Which, whatever. It’s not really about your boobs any more.

(I cannot believe that I just said that without immediately following up with a Gratuitous WonderBaby Photo.)

(OMG WonderBaby. I cannot even go there.)

So, yeah, the boobies. Or rather, everybody else’s boobies. My boobies started a meme. A tittie meme.

You can read about it here. I’m now officially sick of my boobs now and it has nothing to do with breastfeeding.

********

Okay, lie.

It has a little bit to do with breastfeeding. I’ve been weaning WonderBaby for a couple of weeks and I figured that I was homefree heading off to BlogHer for four days. All boobies no baby? No problemo. I didn’t give it a second thought.

Which sucks, because that second thought might have reminded me to pack a breast pump.

You know what happens when you are lactating and you don’t have a baby or a breast pump on hand?

Udderly engorged! With pasties!

(These are not my boobies, people. Please.)

It sucks. Hard. (No pun intended.) It hurts.

And it totally detracts from the in-yo-face rockstar glamour of being a mommy-blogger at a blogger conference.

********

And there is glamour, y’all. Dirty glamour. And it goes waaay beyond the nippie pasties…

Bloggrrrls Gone Wild. You knew that it would be like this, right?

*********

We’re toasting you all here. You do know that, right? We totally are. Every third conversation begins with the words, don’t you wish (insert mama or papa – yes, you, MetroDad – blogger name here) was here?

We’re maybe not doing so much visiting this weekend – we’re busy dressing up les boobies and getting drunk – but we’re thinking of you. Every minute. (Okay, every other minute. First minutes are reserved for missing babies and husbands.) So, every other minute. No lie.

And all you rockstars who have been doing the Mupproustian Interview Experiment? I’m reading your interviews, and I’ll be Muppeting you up and spreading the linky love immediately post-BlogHer. Pinky swear.

And, and… keep visiting the Basement. Someone’s hanging there right now, and could use the company. Bring cookies.