Dear Boobs

Dear Boobs,

You are special!  And, I am so sad to say goodbye.  Thinking about all of the stages that we have gone through is peculiar and unexpected, and it is also very emotional.  Sometimes you don’t stop and think of something’s worth until you have to say goodbye forever.  I am having to say goodbye to you, Boobies.  I have chosen this path, because you could kill me one day.  But, before you are taken from me, dissected and sent to pathology, let’s remember our time together these past forty-two years.

Our  family name for you wasn’t breasts, bosoms, or boobs when I was a young girl. We called you “dots.”

“Cover up your dots,” my mother would say.

“Don’t show your dots!” my grandmother would say.

It’s a very suitable name for little girls, as you really did replica little dots. It makes me laugh now to think about it.   I remember my cousin and I giggling about the name years ago, when my grandmother introduced the sweet old lady that lived next door.

“Girls, this is Dot,” she said, and we couldn’t control the laughter from the thoughts that provoked our silly heads.

Though you were a private girl body part that I was taught to hold sacred, the cosmetics of you weren’t any different from a boy’s chest. We all looked the same, yet the boys could run around with shirts off and the girls couldn’t.  But, we understood, at a young age, that ours were more valuable and you would soon grow and change, and thus, your name “dots” would change, as well. We covered you to protect you and keep you special.

These mammal features are exciting for little girls.  I witness the intrigue my daughter has with my breast size (your shape and size) now and relate back to my childhood fascination.  The prediction and expectation for my unfolding bosoms size was like dreaming of my future wedding.  Subconsciously, the fixation became on all the millions of different shapes and sizes, you could turn out to be like. 

“When I grow up, I want to have big boobies like so-n-so,” I remember thinking.  

It never happened.

My first training bra was another anticipation.  It represented the fact that I was getting older.  You and I always liked getting older (and bigger) back then, and we sure enjoyed the affirmation pieces of life (like training bras), that showed and recognized that coming of age to the world.  I would wear that training bra over you day and night.  This is what I later blamed, when you never changed or grew much from the “dots!”

As I grew into an adult, I never cared much about your size and I am so thankful. I was always pleased.  I liked me, and therefore I liked you! It wasn’t the other way around.

I used to try and keep you covered, until my augmentation and 30’s enhanced both my cleavage and courage, and helped you see a little more light. But, the sexuality feeling you flooded me with had nothing to do with your size, shape, or look, and everything to do with my own self confidence and partner’s longing. This fact gives me a sense of relief for my future transformation.  You were shared in privacy, with the one man that I love, and you were always cherished.  I always made sure you weren’t called anything crude, like “titties”, “jugs”, or “knockers.”  You were just my “Dots” and then my “Boobs or Boobies!” 

The physical feelings you gave to me weren’t always cherished, but will soon be missed. Isn’t it so typical to long for a feeling that you spent most of your life annoyed by…..just because you know it will forever be gone?  The early growth stage felt like bee hives forming inside my chest.  Your knots were so sore and awkward that I didn’t embrace you.

Later, in my young adult stage, your soreness professed as a symbol like no other sweet pain.  It was both an intense sensory pain and emotional welcoming party.  You were always my first alarm that a sweet baby had formed inside me, and as much as you hurt during those first weeks, you gave me tears from happiness and not your pain. The breastfeeding sensation was the same… suffering accompanying satisfaction and joy.  I will miss your feelings.

You served all of my three children in a befitting and beautiful way.  The special nursing moments shared with my three kids were apropos, anomalous and awesome all entwined at once.  These were short moments when only you and I could give them what they needed and wanted.  Your God given bottles served us well, and I am so thankful for these memorable bonding experiences.  These special memories are treasures, but also sadden me the most, because I am reminded of the “never-agains” and my age.

I am not scared of anything bad happening during the surgery or the post operative pain.  I am not even worried about the future product my plastic surgeon will reconstruct with my own belly tissue.  I feel certain that I can be put back together, even without you.

My feminine identity has never been based on you, and it won’t start now.  However, I am sad to say goodbye to you….something that has forever been mine, been my husband’s, been my babies’ and that will be gone indefinitely.  I will say that I am not feeling as attached to my belly fat.  My doctor can take as much as I have been growing for her that she needs and even throw some out!

I have read that a mastectomy is like losing an appendage.  I am not sure about that, as I have never lost any body parts before.  But, I do recognize my feelings of loss…my feelings of fear… my feelings of the unknown.  And, I recognize the grief that I already feel, even before you have left.  

I know most people won’t tell a difference with you gone, but I will.  My husband will!  I keep reminding myself that it’s better to be alive and less endowed, less perfect, less of the Molly I know,  than to be in a casket with you, my perky boobs!

So, before I say goodbye, let me say thank you.  Thank you for helping make me Molly.  You have been pretty all of my adult life and have made me proud.  Thank you for serving your purpose and making me a milking mammal.  This gift you gave for me to breast feed my children is one of the most wonderful and beautiful experiences of my life. Thank you for not killing me, but in turn, sacrificing yourself now, so I can continue to love, teach and grow my sweet family (and embarrass them with my true, but real blog topics).  You have done your job, Boobs!  I will miss you.  Goodbye.

Molly