As many bloggers know, when you have a blog, you get emails about your blog. On occasion, I like to share some of these with you all. Some because the are ludicrous and written by incensed and angry Amway representatives, some by wretched trolls, and some by a brother who objects to reading about his baby sister’s purchase of “Naughty Toys” on the Internet.I share other correspondence because a topic has taken off in a storm of emails that light up my inbox, but it is rarely/barely mentioned on my blog and the poor comments section is left with the sound of lonely, chirping crickets playing. I think it is because often people are just shy and/or uncomfortable.
Since I have a strong feeling this is going to be one of “Those topics”(By the 8 emails I have gotten in the whopping 4 hours the previous post has been up. And hey, feel free to continue to email me, I like it. I just can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to get back to you for a bit.), I would like to just address it and nip the rest of it in the bud.
Cleavage. Specifically, MY cleavage.
Thus, the emails start arriving. So far they have all been funny, curious or light hearted. I hope sincerely it stays this way because I really don’t need nastiness or to be told I look freakish.
Here’s a pretty good sample of what most of them entail:
Ok, ok, so you’re probably online right now…and I was just reading your blog…and, um, I don’t know how to really say this without um…saying, dude your boobs are huge?!
Have i just not noticed before? or perhaps it’s the mumu snapshots? :)
HA HA HA HA HA HA!
And I paid dearly for them! ;)
Seriously, though. I noticed the same freaking thing. It’s no secret I had my chest “Done” but I swear to everything that this is the most freakishly huge they have ever looked. THOSE SHIRTS! ACK! It is the reason they ended up in the “REJECT” pile. It looks like someone just took two cantaloupes and shoved them in my bra.
I have never regretted having surgery, but when I saw those photos I did for a bit. Then I looked in the mirror and followed my husband around all day yipping “Are you SURE my breasts aren’t too ginormous??!!” (Yah. I know. Stupid question to ask a husband.)
I am actually getting a few (5 so far) emails saying the same thing. Something new to stress over and laugh about simultaneously
Frick! Frack! Fricken Fracken suckasuckaSUCK.
It’s a quandary, people.
I am pretty open about the fact that I “Reclaimed my bosoms” in a surgical way. I’ve written about it before, so click here
if you want to know the whys the hows and see “Before” and “After” photos (In a very non-naked way. Sorry.).
My chest seems to fluctuate in size. Not literally, but seriously, this photo is also me, after surgery and 10 lbs heavier. SEE WHAT I MEAN?
I didn’t want to be “TOO big” and there are a few times I feel that I am. Not many, mind you, but some. Friday night would have been one of those times. While I think part of the problem was the bra I was wearing, it brings up a more complicated issue. That would be that I don’t really think that I have the right to bitch about anything regarding my surgery. I did it. ON PURPOSE. With giddy, deliberate glee. It’s like someone said once when I was feeling insecure and hulking, “It’s hardly fair to ask opinions on how it looks when you can’t undo it!”. Very true. I can hardly whine and moan that I look like I’m nursing *fetchtuplets round the clock at times, now can I?
Still, I feel an obligation to speak about my experience as honestly as I can because I have a lot of people ask me what having implants is like. I say they are 93% AWESOME.
But. (You knew the but was coming, didn’t you?)
There are times I think “Was it worth it?”,”Man, these things are too big”, “Whoa, that felt weird” or “I look like a paragraph of a romance novel where they start mooning about ‘Bossoms heaving and springing forth’”. (That would be in a bad way, people.)
Usually these thoughts don’t last long because I am genuinely happy with the results of my surgery. But still, when I see photos like the ones I put up yesterday, or I get emails from people who think I should be ashamed that I had plastic surgery, I have insecurities galore.
Maybe it is weird to get emails about your boobs. Maybe it is weirder to write and publish about getting emails about your boobs. Maybe it is weirdest of all to freak out about any of this first place, but that is what I do: I read, I freak, I write, I publish, I freak some more. It’s just who I am, people.
So…There you go. To everyone who wondered.
*Attention, attention! New Loralee word: “FETCHTUPLETS” Definition: 75 trillion babies. Also used in comparisons to describe baby gut, stretch-marks, and/or how big you felt in your previous pregnancies.