I want a boob job. I do. Like bad.
And I feel like I deserve one… right now. I know I will get one eventually. Matt and I have already discussed this. He knows that I want the youngest member of my family to be my breasts.
I used to have nice boobs. Nothing big or anything. They were just perfect for my petite body. Nice and plump and perky. Then I got pregnant. Three times in a row. I nursed and pumped those bad boys for 3 different human beings. After all that work, the payoff was watching my cute boobs get smaller and smaller and smaller. And I get sadder and sadder and sadder every time I put on a pre-pregnancy bra.
I feel like after growing a human in my belly, pushing them out of my body and nursing them, I should be rewarded with some nice knockers. But nature works in the complete opposite way. After all that work, our bodies get weird and plumpness moves elsewhere. Look, I am all for a post-partum body and feeling good about yourself. I know I look great after 3 kids. I know my body is a goddess temple..blah, blah, blah… BUT I JUST WANT MY BOOBS BACK.
Matt promises he will arrange help and childcare and financial assistance for this to happen when I am 40. By then the kids won’t be so needy and hopefully my recovery will be quick and easy. It just sucks that I am going to have to pay and recover from something I already had! It’s going to be a long 3 years with my itty bitty titties but I know time goes fast.
Until then, I will stick to my push ups (that are actually too uncomfortable to wear anymore) and continue to stare at other women’s chests. Who cares if they think it’s creepy?! Soon I will be staring at my own and I won’t need them right?! You can stare at them too. I’d appreciate that, actually.
So that’s my rant this week. I want boobs. My boobs. I was not ready to say goodbye to them and I miss them all the time. They were the best, those fun bags.
Until we meet again.
Jan The Housewife