An Open Letter From My Breasts

Dear Nacia,

I know this letter might seem like it's out of the blue, being that we've known each other forever and what-not, but I feel like I need to get some things off my chest *winky-wink*.

Do you remember, back in the day, when I was flat and inconspicuous?

We didn't have a care in the world. Our only concern was catching the latest episode of the Mickey Mouse Club, with fine-ass Justin Timberlake & Ryan Gosling. Who knew one show could house all that hotness!

Mmmm.....

Sorry, where was I....OH yes, you didn't really need to pay me much attention. I just hung around on your chest, not really serving much purpose.

But somewhere around age 12 I started to change. OK let's be honest, I put on a few pounds. I began to fill out in ways I'm not sure you were prepared for, and for that, I apologize.

I went from a shy wall flower, who barely got noticed, to that bitch on the dance floor demanding attention from EVERYONE!

I got SO out of control you had to restrain me! I understood though. I was drawing a lot of attention to myself. I hadn't quite come into my own and I was just trying to figure things out.

Over the next few years we both matured and developed. Yet somehow, I always found a way to steal your thunder.

Brief glances by men turned into full-on ogling. I mean, they didn't even look you in the eyes because they were too busy trying to sneak a peak at me!

It's no wonder you just gave in one day and let me run the show. Let's face it I did make you look GOOD!

You had friends who were struggling with "bee stings" for boobs, while others found themselves shopping for bras with double letters in them.

Not me though. I kept my weight under control. All you need is a handful, right?

I made you look AWESOME in your prom dress and had no problem filling out that fuchsia swimsuit.

We had a pretty good thing going on.

Which is why it pains me to tell you this now.

I'm not naive as to why I was created. I understand that though we've had LOTS of good times together, my purpose is NOT to look good. It's to feed your children.

I don't want it to seem like I'm complaining, because I'm really not.

But here's the thing.....I'm f-ing spent!

The last 28 months, while you've been nurturing and nourishing this last baby boy of yours, I've been used and abused.

Don't get me wrong, I loved it when you first got knocked up and I was voluptuous and curvy. I sat up so high and could see the WORLD!

Those first few weeks after your son was born were rough. I was engorged at times, certainly tender to the touch, and just felt bloated.

Not cute at all.

Then things began to settle down. My milk supply was established and the three of us really got into a good rhythm.

I figured, I could do this for a year. That's how long YOU said I would be at the beck-and-call of your suckling baby. I agreed (what else was I going to do) because I knew how important it was to you.

But shit has gotten out of control.

Your son thinks he can help himself to me whenever he damn well pleases! At the mall, in restaurants, while you're trying to wash dishes....it's ridiculous!

I'm all for showing off, but exposing myself to a room full of strangers is NOT what I signed up for.

He pulls at me, squeezes, and on occasion has bitten his tiny little teeth into me. I'm fine with this occasional kind of attention from your husband, but this kid needs some boundaries.

It's now been almost two and a half years since we started this journey. And I have to honestly say...I'm kinda over it.

The constant touching, grabbing, bouncing his Power Ranger off of me while he nurses, and fondling is more attention than I can stomach. It doesn't even feel special anymore. I've become a shell of my former self, barely able to fill out a C cup.

I can't do this anymore.

So I'm writing this letter to inform you that I'm giving my 30 days notice.

I'm sorry for leaving you high and dry, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

Maybe in time I can get my weight back up and we can go out for a night on the town with that sexy black dress you love so much.

Until then, I'm going to lay low and PRAY that your boy stops molesting me in the middle of the night. I'm not a flippin 7/11.

Love,

"The Girls"

If they could talk, what would your breasts say to you? Oh please do share so I'm not the only one embarrassed!

Posted in: mom