The one about my {boobs}
The good news is it's just a cyst.
Oh, it's such good news.
There isn't any bad news actually.
The mammogram hurt like a mutha.
Oh, yeah, I just said mutha.
Take it or leave it, having your boobies smashed like pancakes,
between what I will now call the devil's platters, is no picnic.
I guess it's not supposed to be.
As you'd imagine, I've had boobs on the brain.
I'm the type to worry, make decisions before they need to be made.
As the Hubbs refers to it, jump to conclusions.
It's ok.
It's how I function.
Since last Friday, I've been thinking about boobs.
And about how us gals start out life without them, then for some reason,
around 13 they become all we worry about.
Why is that?
Five year old me was pretty content with no boobies.
Running around the house shirtless.
Then all of a sudden boobs were a thing.
You'd think that after Jr high and high school they'd stop being a thing.
But they never do.
Boobs are the mean girls of life.
They always have something to say:
When you feel fat, hormonal, sexy, whatever.
They cut to the chase and make you feel hot, or not.
In the beginning I hated boobs.
Let's be honest, I didn't have them for a long time.
When you are 14 and still don't have boobs it sucks.
In 5th grade, everyone started wearing bras.
Whether they needed them or not.
Me included.
I put one on everyday, but by mid morning I couldn't stand the
elastic band of death that was literally squeezing the life out of me.
I'd go into the girls bathroom at recess and take it off in side my shirt.
You know where you put both your arms in your shirt and do
cirque du soleil in your shirt?
Then said training bra would go into my bag pack and stay there,
until the next morning when I'd try all over again.
This was my routine until Jr high.
In Jr high, I actually convinced my mom to buy me "lady" bras.
In the "ladies" department, because that's where my best friend bought hers.
Because she actually had boobs and needed a real bra.
I had to have had the smallest bra every made for a woman that year.
It didn't stop me from getting 2 white ones and one "nude".
I felt so sophisticated.
Then it happened.
My boobs came in.
Overnight.
I swear I went to bed, woke up and bam.
Boobs.
My sophomore year in high school I was 4'9 and wore a 36C.
It didn't take long for the teasing to begin.
Which was half fun and half not.
The half not when you are getting "cat calls" from boys in your class,
as you are literally walking out of Victoria's Secret with your mom.
True story, ask Mom!
After that they were a non issue.
I grew into them if that's at all possible.
As the years went on I lost and gained a ton of weight.
Each time gaining or losing my boobage.
I didn't give much thought to them anymore.
They were just boobs.
Then I got pregnant with Caitlin.
And wouldn't you know it, that stick showed two pink lines,
and it was "are you going to breast feed?".
It was the number one question after, "what are you having?".
I always answered the question the same way,
"Yes, if I can".
And I'd always get the same response,
"Of course you will it's what nature intended".
Tell that to these 2 boobs sitting on my chest.
Breastfeeding was not what nature intended.
In fact, if I were to rely on nature, my baby would have starved.
And it devastated me in a way I didn't think was possible.
I was so mad.
At my boobs for betraying me.
The nerve.
And I was bitter.
For almost two years I hated my boobs.
I kept them covered all the time.
Double tank tops to make sure no cleavage was in sight.
Baggy tops and sweaters so not a curve showed (also to hide baby weight).
I didn't buy a new bra for almost two years.
I was so angry that they didn't do their job.
They didn't live up to my standard.
What's the point of having them, if they didn't work?
They were liars.
Oh sure, they were an adequate size, but feed my starving baby?
Nah, they had more important things to do.
Like, sit there like two deflated balloons.
After Mackenzie was born my outlook changed a little, but not much.
I couldn't breastfeed Mackenzie either because of a postpartum hemorrhage.
Even if I could have, I was still holding a grudge.
I hated to call any attention to them whatsoever.
Boobs, who needs them?
They were liars and falsies without really being falsies.
It's safe to say that I would have continued to feel this way
if I hadn't found my little bump.
Which after Wednesday's mammogram turned out to be a cyst.
A little benign cysts.
But, I was forced to think about the "what ifs".
What if... What if... What IF...
And I decided that I would miss lefty an awful lot.
I realized that I had to forgive them.
I had felt betrayed by my body back then, but not now.
In the last year I've become healthier than I have ever been.
I've started exercising (sporadically).
Life to short to hold grudges against your own body.
This has to be their olive branch to me.
I have a new appreciation for my boobs.
Even if they never look like the beauties they were in college.
They are still mine, they are still here, and they are healthy.
Looks like we are bosom buddies again.
