On Boobs (How I Learned to Love Mine)

Kitten's best day everSo, I like boobs. Well, as much as a hetero girl can like boobs. What I mean is, I think boobs are cool on ladies. I think the concept of them in general is weird (oh hello, growths on chest), but overall, they're a neat part of being a woman. And, while I personally don't need to necessarily see 'em hanging out of a too-tight v-neck, or pushed screaming up to one's neck, I gotta say, they're a beautiful thing...s. They're neat...fun bags. Jugs. TITTIES.

(Sorry, having a fifth grade moment there. I digress...)

I gotta tell you, though...I spent a good majority of my life hating on my boobs. I was not "blessed" in the boob department. In fact, I spent most of high school dreading the old locker room change and despising sports bras which made me even flatter than I already was. And here's a little secret...from seventh to eight grade, I stuffed. A lot. Except, it still didn't do me much good, and there was one time I remember distinctly leaking cotton balls (a trial stuffing run. Bad idea.)

In college, I thought about my breast size less, but still worried over the girls here and there, especially during swimsuit season. Maybe I didn't know where to shop (or how, really) but I could NEVER find swimsuits that fit...one pieces made me look like a child, and two pieces? Forget that noise.

After college, and during my (failed) marriage, I began thinking about my ta-tas less and less, and in the era of super-tight t-shirts and low-rise jeans, there started the smallest appreciation for my chest. I found I was able to get great deals on the sale rack for tiny tees that wouldn't fit anyone else, and suddenly, it wasn't so bad to look "athletic."

And then, I entered my post-divorce wild child year (yes, I had a whole year). I was dating freely for the first time in my life. I wasn't looking for a serious relationship in any way, and it was fun to go out and flirt and date multiple guys at once. I'd never viewed myself as a sexual object, and yet there were people who saw me that way, who hit on me in bars and malls and at restaurants. I realized that men were attracted to me despite what I was slowly beginning to see less as a serious flaw in my appearance. They think I'm pretty...and I'm an A cup? WHAAAA...?

But it wasn't just the attention that made me begin to love my body (what a great message THAT would be for this post. Hey ladies! Go whore it up in bars and seek attention from men to validate your beauty! TOTALLY not what I'm saying). That time in my life was also the bravest I had ever felt. I was the most in-tune with my emotions I had ever been. Okay, so I made some really shitty decisions during that time, but at least I trusted myself to make those decisions. I was a wreck in a lot of ways, but I felt pretty from the inside out.

^That might be one of the cheesiest things I've ever said.  I'd apologize if it weren't (cheesily) true.

Look, I don't always get it right. I've thought about getting a boob job before, and I'm pretty much an expert now on which company sells the best padded bras.  There are also days I look at my ass and I'm like, "Oh. My. God. Becky..." but honestly, if I'm being the girl that I need to be, I hate less on myself. (Incidentally, when I'm being the girl I want to be, I want to go to the gym more, so that fixes most of the jiggly problems anyway.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is, go a little easier on yourself. Be the kind of person you know you have the potential to be and love the body you're housed in. Whether you look "athletic" in a t-shirt (I still do, and I'm cool with that) or va-va-voom (you go, girl), try to be the kind of person that does kick ass stuff regardless of your cup size, jean size or whatever.

Hooray for boobies!

Oh lord, the search queries I'm gonna get on this one...

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