I present to you F**k You Gravity:
Today I am going to talk to you about my boobs. Not that I think you want to know, but because I need to vent and this is my place to do that and so I am doing it.
I remember a day not so long ago when I loved my boobs. Really. I did. As a younger, less self-conscious girl, I often thought my boobs were my nicest feature and although small they were perfectly round, symmetrical and perky.
I loved my boobs so much I would sometimes get drunk and feel the need to show them to the whole bar! (Yup, I was THAT chick).
I remember that I was always dressing them up in pretty bras and cute tops that showed them just right so that they would feel how incredibly special and appreciated they were, because I knew that age (and someday possibly motherhood) would take their toll.
When I got pregnant I cried because I knew that it would likely ruin my boobs forever. The prospect of them getting bigger was truly exciting for me, but I was totally disgusted by the idea of anything coming out of them, because up to this point, they were not functional. THEY WERE DECORATIVE. And I liked them that way. I was up for breastfeeding, but knew I wasn't going to be one of those mothers who stressed about it. If the kid took to it (and they worked properly) I would do it and if not, I had no real problem with giving her a bottle. But secretly, I think I hoped she wouldn't take to it because I dreaded the long stretched-out look that so many women ended up with after a year or so of having someone sucking at those things.
Finally the baby came, and although she seemed to have no problem tearing into my boobs and getting her fill from them, the scabbing and pain (which the breastfeeding lady couldn't seem to fix for me) was more than I was willing to deal with in the days after having my entire mid-section opened and a baby pulled out of there. So I opted out. And then the milk came in. I was thrilled the day I looked in the mirror and saw this:
|My boobs when the milk came in.|
This was not ideal, but I had a healthy (if not ill-tempered) baby girl to show for it and I had lost most of the weight without too much stressing. And honestly, stepping into the "Mommy" role made me totally uninterested in the state of my boobs, or the rest of my body for that matter. I HAD GROWN A PERSON INSIDE ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! What man could make THAT kind of claim?
For a couple of years I fell into that trap of not really bothering to shave my legs or trim the lawn or any of the other basic maintenance items that had been a total preoccupation for my younger, always-dating self. I put on weight, which made my boobs fill out again and under the right tee shirt with the right bra, they totally looked bigger, better and more awesome than ever!
But the other day I was getting into the shower and for some odd reason (probably because it's bathing suit season again) I stopped in front of the full-length mirror naked and looked. This is what I saw:
|My boobs at the nude beach|
One was considerably bigger and the other was facing the wrong way! My nipples have slipped downward and they hang more to the side than the front now! I can only blame age and gravity (because I am NOT going to offend the several bowls of ice cream I enjoy each month) and can only imagine that this is normal and that most women have some kind of similar experience.
I felt betrayed. I mean, my boobs were like my buddies. I counted on them for a boost in self image when everything else failed me. Bad hair day? At least I have nice boobs! Face breaking out? My boobs sure look full today! Period cramps? At least my boobs look fantastic! And now that's all gone. What the hell am I going to do with them now? I can't sell them. No one would want them. And I can't keep them covered up all the time (although I may try). I suppose I could have implants and/or a nip/tuck kind of thing to yank them up to my chin but who the hell has the cash for that.
I suppose that in the end I will just have to accept that we had a good run and that the glory days of fantastic breasts are behind us. We went on many b-cup sized adventures together and I sure will miss the good old days of using you to seal the deal when I want to get backstage at a concert or just need some confidence for a date. I just hope I can stop getting choked up whenever I see a KFC ad.
All photos were the result of google searches.