I was sitting in church yesterday when the pastor asked us to bow our head’s in prayer. I lowered my head, and was almost immediately distracted by the sight of my own breasts. I was wearing a cowl neck, so it’s not like I was flashing cleave in church (seriously, I may be lacking in normal human decorum, but I don’t show off the twins in the house of the lord!); it was more like I got a perfect peek-a-boo from the exact right angle. It was as I was staring down (and as the pastor was leading us in prayer) that I caught myself thinking “Wow. I have great breasts.” Now, I recognize that this was neither the normal, nor the appropriate thing for me to be thinking at this moment, but what can I say? I was blessed with almost perfect breasts, and they have long been one of my favorite physical features (beat out only by the smile that took 4 years in braces to mold). Even at times when I’ve gained weight and the rest of my body has ceased to make me happy, my breasts have continued to make me smile. The truth is, I am still often caught me off guard by the sight of them. You would think I would have grown used to them by now, but I still catch myself as impressed by them today as I was 13 years ago when they first appeared. That’s probably not a normal revelation, is it?
Anyway, the point (because yes, there is a point) is that I love my breasts, but you know what I love more? The fact that (should I pull this whole pregnancy thing off) they will be the instrument with which I will nurture my growing, cuddly baby. There’s some magic to that, isn’t there? I don’t even care that they are going to sag and stretch to no end and will eventually cease to be the breasts that I know and love; I can’t wait for it. I’ve seen what’s happened to Syrah’s breasts after two kids. She used to have the most perfect natural breasts you have ever seen: the kind of breasts you would take with you if you were ever planning a boob job and point at and say “I want those!” Now, they are deflated, and saggy, and practically require the support of armor to stay in place (she and I have discussed this transformation on multiple occasions, so it’s not like I’m talking out of school right now). She doesn’t care. Her breasts are a symbol of the two children she brought into this world, and she embraces them as such. She is thankful for all the nourishment and bonding time they provided, and for this reason, I am jealous of her breasts. I cannot wait to embrace my saggy, worn-out, no longer perky appendages. I seriously think I am going to be pissed if they still look as great 3 years from now as they do today, because that will mean that Endo has won and that I will never carry and nurse a child the way I long to. Me and my breasts; we’ve had a good run. Now it’s time for them to serve the purpose they were created for in the first place, and to sag down to my knees as nature intended!
P.S. I made my first attempt at using coupons yesterday. I only saved $5 on my $140 bill. I need to try harder.
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