This post is strictly for the members of the mature boobies club. If you do not have mature boobies... or if you do not have boobies at all (I am talking to you my 5 male readers) then you should just stop reading right now and go do something productive like put together a bird house or finish your high school essay on the Death of a Salesman.
Carl called yesterday to tell me that he was getting ready to board his flight to here and there and eventually over yonder which would bring him hither and near until he would finally be landing here in Omahaheho. When he told me he was a mere 55 hours away from being home I said "I don't think you should come. Seriously, something has happened to my body and I may just disgust you completely. It is better that you remember me as you have been in the last 5 months-like the 18 year old fresh face that you met so long ago. This is the way it has to be."
He said "Okay Sybil, see you in a few days."
I tell ya ladies... youth is wasted on the youth. I stood in front of the mirror the other day after my shower and I did not recognize the body in front of me. It is not very often I look at myself in the mirror because I usually have an audience in the bathroom which consists of a dog with horrible nasal problems, a baby that needs to shower with me because if I don't keep her in my sights at all times she will set the house on fire and somehow call child protective services, and the occasional 5-year-old that is asking for a snack. I have no doubt you know exactly what I am talking about. Me naked is something that only happens for approximately 3.5 minutes a day-and that is pushing my privacy allowance.
So there I was, taking inventory of my parts when I realized that I have saddlebags, a stomach that looks like a sharpay puppy is curled up on it and two socks for boobs. Yep... and these aren't even anklet socks, no these are knee highs. It is deplorable.
I have been working very hard to get myself back in shape and I am at the exact same weight I was when I got pregnant with Mary-which means I only need to lose the weight I gained from Hope, Aaron and Emma-but somehow my body does not look the way it did before I had Mary. Before Mary I was feeling good about myself, and obviously Carl was too since we got pregnant.
So what happened? Is this a cruel cruel joke? Why is it that women give and give their entire lives and end up with a saggy droopy body that needs Lycra, push up bras and a lot of alcohol in order to look and feel normal.
What a freakin' jip.
I saw the trailer for that movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" and let me tell you, it got me thinking. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could enter this world with old saggy bodies and leave it with young perky vivacious bodies? Wouldn't it be nice to not have to spend $10,000 at the plastic surgeon for a pair of ha-ha's that we had when we were 18? Why do I need to buy back my boobs?
I am frustrated... irritated... and I am seriously shaking my fist at gravity! I am here to say that I want my boobs back! I don't know where they went and I was young and dumb when I had all the good parts and I didn't even know how to use them to my fullest advantage. I mean, imagine how easy life would be if I had the body I had when I was 21 and the smarts I have now. Phew-women could rule the world if that were the case.
And the kicker is that I just spent $200 at Victoria's Secret on new bras that make me look amazing... fabulous... incredible with clothes on, but the moment I unhook that sucker, you can hear those boobs fall like a sonic boom. What good is looking good in your clothes if you look like an 80 year old naked?
I need to tell Carl that we don't need to pay off our house or save for the kids college... we need to go buy me some boobs! I do not want socks with rocks anymore.
Thank you for listening... this meeting of the mature boobies club is adjourned.
Don't forget to attend the meeting tomorrow for women whose legs no longer go up to their butt, but now their butt travels down to their legs. See you there!