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I Need a Boob Job!

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Dani Klein Modisett: I need a boob job. There, I said it. (Or at least I wrote it.)

woman looking at the mirror

I don't want to brag, but I had some perky breasts back in the day. Not too much, not too little. Enough not to get teased at any phase of my life, was how I thought of them. When I thought about them at all. That's how unobtrusive they were. And I certainly never "worked" them, never bought the Wonderbra (and yes, that's how old I am).

In my youth, I loved to run long-distance and I loved to dance, spending as much as three hours a day in class. Neither pursuit makes great use of breasts. Also, my mother was an A-cup pregnant, and my sister had her breasts reduced when she was 15 -- after which we Klein women just never paid much attention to "the girls" (as one of my well-endowed friends refers to her chest).

Then I had two babies. I breast-fed them as long as they wanted, assuming that the usual consequences of such generosity -- namely, that my mammaries would be rendered flaps of skin attached to my ribcage -- was not going to happen to me. That happened to other women who breast-fed three out of six years. Not me. I'm athletic, I don't smoke, I don't even drink, for God's sake. I would be spared.

Well, as Bob Hope used to say, "Hardy har har."

At this point, if I were a marionette, my figure would be greatly aided by having two strings attached to my nipples that danced slightly ahead of me to keep my poor, tired lady parts aloft. Now, I'm probably not vain enough to pursue the myriad options available to me.

But a gal can dream.

A gal can dream about throwing on a T-shirt and jeans and nothing else and looking saucy instead of very, very, very tired. Of lying down on my back without everything heading to the mattress via whatever the shortest distance is (even if it's under my arms). Of someone figuring out a way for a woman to have children and return to exactly the same shape and size she was before she started pushing babies out.

I bet Avatars do that. Until such time as James Cameron actually does become God, though, apparently I am going to have to invest in some of those bait-and-switch bras I hate.

But some mornings when I'm headed to the kitchen at 6 to kick the day off, I'll catch my reflection in the mirror before getting dressed and I'll whisper to myself, "Good for you for bringing the truth! Because frankly, ladies, I really am as tired as you look."


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3 comments so far | Post a comment now
Robin June 16, 2010, 8:52 AM

I feel your pain. Before baby #1 I was a B cup. After birth I shot to a DD. After I lost all the weight I was a C. Baby #2 brought me back up in the Ds, and now (with a little weight left to lose) I’m an A. An A? Seriously?

Jenny June 16, 2010, 9:14 AM

After breastfeeding two kids, mine are now like deflated balloons. Like you, I had perky breasts before babies—-they were Cs and they looked good. Now, they are pancakes and I think I need to buy some B bras, because the “girls” aren’t filling out the cups. I never thought I’d get a boob job…but I gotta say, they don’t look half bad now.

Me June 17, 2010, 5:58 PM

I didn’t even breastfeed my children and my, previously full size C cup, became a small C after baby #1 (no problem, I can handle that) but after baby #2 I am left as an A. Nice!!! I never thought I would ever consider a boob job but if I had the money just laying around I’d be on my way to get one right now!


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