I used to freaking love my boobs
I used to freaking love my boobs.
Before kids, I had these lovely perky things that just sat there smiling at the world. I could wear halter necks/boob tubes (are they still a thing?) and walk around proudly showing off my perky puppies.
No helpful bra required.
They weren't massive; they were just these lovely C cup boobs that even received admiring (sometimes leery) glances from members of the opposite sex... and - not to boast - sometimes members of the same sex
I even aced the old pencil trick. You know the one: your boobs weren't 'saggy' if you could put a pencil under one of your boobs and if it dropped straight to the ground = perky.
Man, I could put a pencil under one of my boobs and that sucker would drop to the ground faster than my kids run towards a breakfast buffet. Life was perky and grand.
This was before kids.
And when I got pregnant, those suckers grew to an admirable size.
I was sexy as fck.
Breastfeeding made me feel like a breast-enhanced porn star. The husband thought I rocked the kasbah, and I was looking forward to my future boob modeling career.
Nek minute...
Two more kids on the boob, and nothing.
Zip.
Nada.
Zilch.
WTAF? Someone forgot to tell me that two deflated balloons would now be on my chest.
Fifteen years later, and my great perky, gravity-defying boobs have been replaced. There's now ALWAYS a great bra holding up two staggeringly forlorn, second-rate boobie impersonators.
Sadly, halter necks are a thing of the past.
If I want to flash my boobs to the husband, I don't need to lift my shirt above my head... just lifting a couple of inches above my navel will now suffice #jokesbut
You could call me a thief...'cause when I take my bra off, you'd feel like you've been robbed #boomtish (sorry, it's an oldie but a goodie).
No longer do I receive an appreciative leer from a stranger, and my kids' collection of 412 crayolas would now stay firmly in place under my boobs.
When I think about my boobs and indeed how my body used to look, I wonder why the fck I ever had body issues as a younger female... I should have loved myself stupid for being trim, taut, perky, and terrific.
Idiot I was.
You know the really weird thing, though? As much as I'd love to lift my boobs/belly/bum back up to where they used to be, I freaking love the reasons why my body has changed... and they're called Maclean, Molly, and Memphis.
I know I could get my boobs done and exercise like a bastard to fix it all back up... but honestly, I couldn't be fcked- and the husband thinks I'm a Goddess anyway.
So the moral of my little story is to have another cocktail, flash your swing low, sweet chariots to your husband, and eat some more cake.
Life is far too short to sweat the small (saggy) stuff.
Cheers,
Fi xx