Parenting Guru: Thank you, boobs

[Editor's note: This month, Shine Parenting Gurus were asked to write about a moment over the last year that they are genuinely thankful for, whether that was a good time with their family, or a more difficult experience that made reflect upon their lives in a new way.]

You know, I really thought long and hard about what I'm thankful for this year. I could tell you that I'm thankful for a lot of things-my husband, my son, even the stupid dog that won't stop digging up the drip irrigation and eating it. Okay, maybe there's not so much thankfulness with the dog. But after really thinking about this, I've come to a conclusion.

I'm thankful for my boobs.

Yes. I am. I am thankful for my boobs. Oh sure, where once they pointed to the sky, they now see mostly the ground, except when they are safely placed in my very favorite "haul 'em up and make 'em look perky again" bra. But I am thankful for them.

You see, last month was Breast Cancer Awareness month. You couldn't have missed it. To celebrate, every product on the shelves had a special pink edition to sell. And one morning, while I was at the grocery store, I saw a pink something or other and thought, "I should get a mammogram." Because I'd never had one. Don't judge. I already know I'm stupid.

Well, hello? You know they found a lump. Two actually. I could see them, thanks to digital imaging. I don't know how I managed to stare at the lumps and not freak out. Usually, I'm really, really good at freaking out. But when the technician didn't mention them, I, like the idiot I am, figured they were nothing to worry about.

Have I mentioned I'm an idiot?

Two days later I got the call. The mammogram center insisted on seeing me the next day. Now I don't know about you, but when the mammogram center insists on seeing you the very next day, you kind of freak out a bit.

And when I say the night before the test was the longest night of my life, I'm not exaggerating. My husband later said that he had stayed awake all night long, planning our fight against cancer. I stayed awake too. But being the incredibly brave and mature person I am, I was planning the music for my funeral (if anyone asks you, I would like "Bye, Bye Baby" by the Bay City Rollers; I know it's copied from "Love Actually" but I like the idea).

The next morning, I got up. I made breakfast for my son. I drank coffee with my husband. And then I drove nearly 50 miles to another mammography center for the test freaking out the entire way. Because I knew if I had cancer, it was my fault. Who the hell reaches my age and doesn't have a mammogram? Me. The idiot, that's who.

And that's why after all the tests, when the doctor finally said "There's nothing there" and then started to tell me what the little optical illusions really were, I tuned out.

All I could think was that I would get to see my kid grow up. I'd get to see how he turns out. Who he marries. How many kids he will have. I get to grow old with my husband-although I am firmly resisting the old and wrinkly thing and plan to Botox my forehead until my eyebrows resemble inverted "V" shapes.

So that's what I'm thankful for, my boobs--or at least their health. And every year I plan to get my mammogram at Thanksgiving. And every Thanksgiving I hope to raise my glass and praise my boobs. Even if we have guests. Ah, heck. They can praise them too.

Read more Manic Motherhood here.