I have a girlfriend who suggested to me the other day, that I need a better bra, cuz, ah, when I was running . . . well, I just needed a better bra.
Now really, what I need is a tummy tuck, but I’m too scared. Or a diet, but I am far more afraid of that than a tummy tuck. Or, in the modern vernacular: a new lifestyle eating approach (if I had a dick, I would suggest that someone suck it right now).
Now these boobs have been through a lot. These boobs were my calling card for many years before middle age and weight gain took over my body. Then, when I had my kids, I did this thing called adoptive breast feeding. (Don’t ask, really, if you don’t know, don’t ask.) I will tell you, this required pumping my breast every three hours for 6 weeks before our first baby was born.
And you get a little something, not much, but a little. But besides wanting to experience the Bonding Experience of Breast Feeding as an adoptive mom. (and if you know me by now, you know that I hate to be LEFT OUT of anything) adoptive breast feeding made my breasts grow. And grow. And seriously grow. I’m talking humongous things down to my waist (oh, how I cringe in embarrassment as I type this). And long after I had stopped the nursing, they continued to grow . . .
So when I found a lump in my breast, requiring a lumpectomy, this little nasty 24 year old Fellow in Oncology said to me:
Uh, have you thought about doing something about those?
I’m here, right? I have a lump . . .
Uh, no, their uh, SIZE?
Yeah, they are really big, I get that but . . . the lump?
Bottom line is, this guy made me feel so terrible about myself, but it ended up being a good thing. Cuz not only did I get a lumpectomy, but I had a breast reduction at the same time. My breasts were so huge that they could take all this tissue around the lump and still leave me with some size D’s.
And I loved my new, scarred up but perky breasts. I would whip my shirt up at cocktail parties and scream: “Tits like a 15 year old. Wanna see?” Okay, there was some vodka involved, but also . . . I had breast pride.
So when my friend said the other day . . . you need a better bra I thought: “Do you wanna see these? 50, but the nipples STILL POINT UP!” Cuz 40 pounds and nine years later, it turns out I still have Breast Pride.
Now really, what I need is a tummy tuck, but I’m too scared. Or a diet, but I am far more afraid of that than a tummy tuck. Or, in the modern vernacular: a new lifestyle eating approach (if I had a dick, I would suggest that someone suck it right now).
Now these boobs have been through a lot. These boobs were my calling card for many years before middle age and weight gain took over my body. Then, when I had my kids, I did this thing called adoptive breast feeding. (Don’t ask, really, if you don’t know, don’t ask.) I will tell you, this required pumping my breast every three hours for 6 weeks before our first baby was born.
And you get a little something, not much, but a little. But besides wanting to experience the Bonding Experience of Breast Feeding as an adoptive mom. (and if you know me by now, you know that I hate to be LEFT OUT of anything) adoptive breast feeding made my breasts grow. And grow. And seriously grow. I’m talking humongous things down to my waist (oh, how I cringe in embarrassment as I type this). And long after I had stopped the nursing, they continued to grow . . .
So when I found a lump in my breast, requiring a lumpectomy, this little nasty 24 year old Fellow in Oncology said to me:
Uh, have you thought about doing something about those?
I’m here, right? I have a lump . . .
Uh, no, their uh, SIZE?
Yeah, they are really big, I get that but . . . the lump?
Bottom line is, this guy made me feel so terrible about myself, but it ended up being a good thing. Cuz not only did I get a lumpectomy, but I had a breast reduction at the same time. My breasts were so huge that they could take all this tissue around the lump and still leave me with some size D’s.
And I loved my new, scarred up but perky breasts. I would whip my shirt up at cocktail parties and scream: “Tits like a 15 year old. Wanna see?” Okay, there was some vodka involved, but also . . . I had breast pride.
So when my friend said the other day . . . you need a better bra I thought: “Do you wanna see these? 50, but the nipples STILL POINT UP!” Cuz 40 pounds and nine years later, it turns out I still have Breast Pride.
Ok, I love your posts, I read them wanting them to just go on and on. Most of them are funny, some of them hilarious, but this one, this one post in particular, is amazing, heartfelt, true and it honestly almost made me cry, laughing and loving your honesty. Not only are those girls lucky to have you be their adoptive Mom, I am lucky to have you as my adoptive family (via-Nanny adoption) And if anyone is missing your blog they have no idea, raw reality!!!! I see a TV show in your future and lots of TIVO in mine.
ReplyDeleteLOVE it! Great post as usual! I agree with Andrea- TV show!!
ReplyDeleteHi Dee,
ReplyDeleteJust found your posts today and loved your account of your new boobs, I am thinking of a reduction as well is it really worth it, please be honest about the scars and the pain. Scared of both. Keep writing I love you sense of humour.
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great picture. congrats to you and your breasts! i wish i had breast pride. i was small B-cup pre-pregnancy, went up to a C-cup with pregnancy and deflated to an A-cup when i stopped breastfeeding. my sister still has her nice, big breasts after having 3 kids. maybe i need to have more kids. thanks for sharing and take care.
ReplyDeleteI got an infection when I was breast feeding and had to get an ultrasound to see how bad it really was and when the orderly wheeled me down to the ultrasound she asked if I was in to get a breast reduction. I'M ONLY A FREAKING C! And I said "Uhm no, I have a gigantic boil on my boob" and then I puked from the pain meds. I should have puked on her.
ReplyDeleteMy boobs hide in my armpits. Have since they grew in...Oh and now I have a very nice scar right by my nipple. I told the nurses that it was going to kill my nipple modeling career. They told me I could have surgery later to get the scar smaller. ha!