Last week I went to a breast augmentation consultation. Those who know me, may have known this fact...and know that "my girls do not run a cup'ith over". I am small breasted. And, as my Aunt Andrea put it once, "Honey, boobs are an item you don't want the passing grade on", i.e... an A or B cup.
I brought Tony, for the moral and literal "support". Spoke to my closest of friends who also gave me the 'ol ..."you look great the way you are, but if you want 'em, I understand" speeches. I do want em, though. I've wanted "my girls" to grow since puberty. The only time I ever filled a cup, was when I was either pregnant, breast feeding or yes...a little chubby. I lost nearly twenty pounds two years ago and the first five were my "boobages". I swore I would either: eat a Costco-sized bag of Resses' peanut butter cups and a soda to gain them back...or continue to lose weight. I chose the latter.
The consultation was the epitome of what you'd look for in a Doctor's office. The whole experience was a bit overwhelming; beyond perfect. The medical assistants were lovely, the Plastic Surgeon was the George Clooney/Mc Dreamy you only imagine on television. I felt so welcome and comfortable in the office. Ah, did I mention the bathroom? On a side note, the bathroom was decorated in marble and rather than a paper towel dispenser hanging on the wall, sitting on the marble counter was a silver bowl of hand rolled, white, fluffy washcloths. I felt like I was at the Ritz Carlton. So, what was the problem, you ask? My husband!
Tony, a man of sound mind sat quietly in the corner watching the consultation between the Doctor and myself. He asked a few pertinent questions, such as: "Will the valve be visible through the skin"... "how big should we go here?"... and, "how soon can we schedule the appointment?" With questions like this, I knew he was "on board".
The best part of the consult was the "boob fitting." I was asked to put on a sports bra and try on several different sizes, called CC's. I tried on four sizes before I found the right fit for me/380cc. Then, I took the sample breasts out and handed them back to the nurse. As I did this, Tony, ever so subtly, gave me his thumbs up...suggesting he really likes me... the way I am! It was at this moment, I remembered why I married him.
He doesn't want the boobs, despite a few of his friends "high fiving" him for my decision to augment. He loves me for who I am, and really I should love myself for who I am. That's it. I don't have a deformity, requiring surgery. My small boobs aren't lopsided. They don't droop to my knees. I don't have enough to droop. I only breast fed one kid.
So, it took this appointment to reach my epiphany. At this point, I am saying no to a pair of personal floatation devices. I may want them, later. But for now...I am more content. I am also a role model for my puberty-reaching daughter as well. I want her to feel okay with her body. I am also without material, I was writing the journey, as a book. It would have been a good topic too!
So, as Shakespeare wrote: "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer..." I suffer not...knowing my husband is happy; just the way he married me.
I would love to hear your comments. This topic was a brave disclosure for me, so be kind! :)
I brought Tony, for the moral and literal "support". Spoke to my closest of friends who also gave me the 'ol ..."you look great the way you are, but if you want 'em, I understand" speeches. I do want em, though. I've wanted "my girls" to grow since puberty. The only time I ever filled a cup, was when I was either pregnant, breast feeding or yes...a little chubby. I lost nearly twenty pounds two years ago and the first five were my "boobages". I swore I would either: eat a Costco-sized bag of Resses' peanut butter cups and a soda to gain them back...or continue to lose weight. I chose the latter.
The consultation was the epitome of what you'd look for in a Doctor's office. The whole experience was a bit overwhelming; beyond perfect. The medical assistants were lovely, the Plastic Surgeon was the George Clooney/Mc Dreamy you only imagine on television. I felt so welcome and comfortable in the office. Ah, did I mention the bathroom? On a side note, the bathroom was decorated in marble and rather than a paper towel dispenser hanging on the wall, sitting on the marble counter was a silver bowl of hand rolled, white, fluffy washcloths. I felt like I was at the Ritz Carlton. So, what was the problem, you ask? My husband!
Tony, a man of sound mind sat quietly in the corner watching the consultation between the Doctor and myself. He asked a few pertinent questions, such as: "Will the valve be visible through the skin"... "how big should we go here?"... and, "how soon can we schedule the appointment?" With questions like this, I knew he was "on board".
The best part of the consult was the "boob fitting." I was asked to put on a sports bra and try on several different sizes, called CC's. I tried on four sizes before I found the right fit for me/380cc. Then, I took the sample breasts out and handed them back to the nurse. As I did this, Tony, ever so subtly, gave me his thumbs up...suggesting he really likes me... the way I am! It was at this moment, I remembered why I married him.
He doesn't want the boobs, despite a few of his friends "high fiving" him for my decision to augment. He loves me for who I am, and really I should love myself for who I am. That's it. I don't have a deformity, requiring surgery. My small boobs aren't lopsided. They don't droop to my knees. I don't have enough to droop. I only breast fed one kid.
So, it took this appointment to reach my epiphany. At this point, I am saying no to a pair of personal floatation devices. I may want them, later. But for now...I am more content. I am also a role model for my puberty-reaching daughter as well. I want her to feel okay with her body. I am also without material, I was writing the journey, as a book. It would have been a good topic too!
So, as Shakespeare wrote: "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer..." I suffer not...knowing my husband is happy; just the way he married me.
I would love to hear your comments. This topic was a brave disclosure for me, so be kind! :)
