The Hubster commented on my behaviour the other day. “Why don’t you go get some implants and be done with it?” Apparently I’ve been obsessing more frequently than usual about my body. Pushing flesh into the airspace that should be occupied by boobs, and pulling at the lovely muffin tops that hang over the low slung pants that I got tricked by comfort into wearing since I had baby G. I’ve been tempted but there are few things holding me back:
1) It’s pretty major surgery.
2) You’ve got to get the implants replaced every so often (ewww!)
3) It seems so vain and heaven forbid that I be called vain.
I probably wouldn’t get a lot of sympathy from people, as for most of my life I’ve been blessed with a fairly athletic, dancer-type body. I was toothpick-thin growing up, could out-eat anyone and still not gain an ounce. I didn’t really start gaining weight until after we started trying to have a family. It could have been the hormone treatments, but even with the weight gain I’ve never been over a size 7. Any fat, however, never goes where I want it to. I’ve never had a chest. Thank God for the miracle bras they have these days with all the uber-padding and push up architecture. Or little G would be pointing at me instead of the checkout girls and asking “is that a grrr-al or a buoy?”.
I remember when I was about 12. I had quite severe acne and nothing was happening in the boobage department. My mother took me to an endocrinologist to see if I had a hormonal imbalance. Unfortunately (to me at the time), everything checked out normal. “This is just you, but you can do something about it when you’re older, if it really bothers you” was the verdict. Thanks, Doc. My piano teacher always extolled the virtues of having a small bust as well. She said it made those pieces where you had to cross one arm over the other so much easier to play. And there would be no problems nursing. So thanks to my piano teacher for making things so much better by having that oh-so embarrassing conversation with me when I was 13.
While I was self-conscious about it, I never really let it hold me back too much through my dating years. I guess I was lucky that most of the guys I dated were “ass”-men. Although Asian women apparently have flat asses (or so my reliable sources, The Bachelor message board posters, tell me). So they were technically all “flat-ass” men. Including the hub. He doesn’t think I need anything done, but it’s my body and he tires of me complaining every few cycles about it.
And complain I do. Probably because I’ve had a taste of it. Yes, along with the lovely 40 lbs plus I gained during my pregnancies, I also developed size C breasts. I managed to breastfeed my girl until she was 19 months old in a not-so-desperate attempt to hang on to those mammaries. But to no avail. After 2 babies and a combined 25 months of nursing, I shrank to smaller than pre-pregnancy size. There is no justice!
Well, one fringe benefit of being off is the opportunity I have to get to the gym on a fairly regular basis. So at least now I’ve lost all the baby weight, and then some. The aforementioned muffin tops are here to stay. I would never contemplate a tummy tuck – major ouches!! I’ve been able to clear my closet of a lot of pants that will hopefully continue to be too big for me. To make room for more shopping, I suppose. Perhaps for larger shirts as well if I do finally choose to artificially grow my mommy tops.