Dear Breasts: An Open Letter from Mommy

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Dear Breasts,

We’ve been avoiding eye contact, and I know it’s been awhile since we last spoke. Recently, we both said some things we didn’t mean. I guess we’ve always had a difficult relationship. As a teenager I put pressure on you to be someone that you weren’t in order for me to keep up with the other faster growing girls. I apologize for the time my mother caught me smearing you in Hellmann's mayonnaise because my friend Amber Scott told me this was the best way to make you grow. Needless to say, we were unable to make potato salad that night.

It wasn’t until college that I respected who you were as individuals, but by then I was in a battle with my butt and hips to show some initiative and help a sistah out. Now that I’m older and a little wiser, I understand that by sheer genetics I was never meant to be curvaceous as Beyonce or Serena Williams, but you would have to admit we did pretty good with what we had in our 20's.

I know you were just as tired of hearing my mother tell us, “Baby, stop rushing your body. When you start having babies you will get the hips and breasts you want.” What the hell type of payoff is that? “Here’s that new cup size and full hips you ordered, with a side of responsibility and protective fear that you will have to shoulder for the rest of your life. We thought we’d super size that for you."

Well, breasts here we are. You exclusively breastfed for three months, than you exclusively pumped for 10 1/2 months, and look at you. You are a shell of your former self. Where’s that “pep” in your step? "Perk Up Damnit!!!!! You look so sad, why such the long face?!" We went from the high floating helium balloons you see at the start of the bash, to the sagging, withered air filled latex you find long after the party is over.

Deflated Balloon
Credit: crdot.

That is it, breasts, we are taking a stand! I am not going to have you moping around here any longer. Get up, we have work to do. As they say in the Army, “We Leave No Man Behind.” You’ve been with me from the beginning, so I don’t care how many Chest Flies, Wall Presses, or Push-Ups we to have to do, I am going to lift you up, and as God as my witness, you are going to claim what is rightfully yours: a full and happy 34-C cup!


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