Man! I feel like a woman...

So there we were, me, my mom, himself and the smallies. After an exciting morning that included the stomach chilling realization halfway home from our weekend in Kerry that we may have left the modem behind (we didn't, it was in the big bag,) my first ever car boot sale (this deserves a blog in itself,) and a trip to Argos for a mattress protector - Oh! The joys of co-sleeping... no one mentions the gallons of puke and poo you will scrub out of your bed before wising up and buying one of these miracle workers - we found ourselves wandering about Mahon Point Shopping Center.

Being that I was the only one of our quintet with any appreciation at all for the joyful art of shopping, I knew my time was limited and so made the most of it, hitting my favourite stores fast and hard before the patience of my companions wore thin and I was trundled back to real life where a trip to the grocery store is the social high light of my day.

I had finished with the ground floor and was just winding down the upper level when we came upon La senza. My heart stopped and my feet froze as my senses were overwhelmed with colour and my brain slowly took in the giant 75% off signs plastered in the window.

Like a moth to a flame, I made my way into the shop, drifting from one rack to the next, my hands sliding through acres and acres of gaudily patterned, highly flammable, silky feeling bits and bobs.

As a woman who has spent the last two years either pregnant, nursing or both, my lingerie collection has no secrets worth keeping, let alone any that are worthy of Victoria. It is a veritable wasteland of stretched out cotton jersey in black, white and varying shades of grey with nary an underwire to be found for fear of damaging my milk ducts, thus leaving me with a permanent nursing bra "uni - boob" (sexy, I know.)

The days of trussing up the girls and putting my breast foot forward have temporarily been put on hold. These days, the only padding in my bra is the kind that soaks up spills. Not that I need any padding as my breasts have reached proportions best described as epic which have the small one trembling in fear as her lunch is twice the size of her head.

I glided through the forest of floaty nighties, past the naughty negligees and headed straight
for the good stuff, a wall full of heavily discounted bras, none of which were black, white or any shade of grey, none of which had ever heard the word jersey, none of which served any purpose except to showcase my bosoms to their best possible advantage.

The best part? All of them were priced at €5.00 This meant that even though they didn't have QUITE my size, I didn't feel too guilty buying one.

I eventually settled on a blazing pink number in a shiny sateen fabric with the stiffest, sturdiest underwire known to man and after assuring my mother that "Yes mom, this is for AFTER I finish nursing" handed the clerk my €5.00 and just about burned a trail home to try on my new purchase.

Holy. Mother.

Pamela Anderson has nothing on me. After an hour or so of preening in front of the mirror and trying on just about every item of clothing in my wardrobe with even the slightest v - neck, I eventually had to give in and feed the Snot Queen who had been watching the show with great appreciation and was fascinated at the way her dinner was being displayed (It's all in the presentation you know!)

After two pregnancies and 17 months of nursing, sleepless nights and regular dousing in various bodily fluids, it's nice to know that I've still got it.

Not bad for €5.00