Hi there, I’m here to celebrate my extraordinary boobs.
I proudly possess big boobs, and I won’t deny it…
To be candid, my appearance doesn’t particularly stand out.
I’ve always had a unique beauty, distinct from conventional notions of prettiness. In my prime, I may have been deemed captivating, occasionally falling into the categories of cute, stylish, and, at times, even regarded as hot or sexy. However, ‘pretty’ has never quite defined me.
My eyes are closely spaced and on the smaller side, and my skin isn’t flawless, boasting numerous freckles. These days, I carry a bit of extra weight, and I can see the inevitable signs of aging, which, while perfectly natural, are simultaneously a little disconcerting for me to observe.
I do possess two traits that align with conventional beauty standards:
- My hair is luxuriously thick and stunning.
- I’m blessed with truly exceptional breasts.
I’m completely serious — take a moment to admire them!
I seldom engage in self-praise when it comes to my looks, which might not align with the typical behavior of feminist women. However, I’ve been contemplating this, and I’ve come to the conclusion that openly acknowledging what you admire about your appearance is an act of self-care and gratitude. It’s a refreshing departure from dwelling on our perceived flaws, and this perspective becomes particularly significant as we age and often feel like we’re fading into the background.
So, with that in mind, please allow me the pleasure of rhapsodizing about my exceptional boobs.
What makes my breasts so exceptional?
I appreciate your curiosity.
- At 28 years old, it’s rather remarkable, isn’t it? These boobs have been with me for well over four decades, and miraculously, they’ve defied the usual effects of aging. I can confidently move about without a bra (though I choose not to in public, as I aim not to overwhelm anyone). The freedom to do so is truly liberating.
- My breasts nourished and nurtured a little one. The miracle of breastfeeding is truly something to behold. You create a new life, and then your body can support that life for months on end. It’s nothing short of incredible. Nursing, albeit quite demanding and exhausting, was also the most profoundly rewarding experience I’ve ever embarked on. While I’m not longing for those days (my kids are now teenagers), I hold those moments close to my heart, cherishing the time they lasted.
- They are undeniably huge. To be precise, I’m a 38DDDDD, which technically translates to a 38H. However, it appears that many bra manufacturers and stores tend to capsize at D as if they believe anything beyond that isn’t an improvement. But let me tell you, my assets are generously proportioned, sizzling, and perfectly content to venture to H.
- They continue to (mostly) challenge the laws of gravity. I mean, considering their size, ‘perky’ may not be the most fitting term, but they maintain their round shape and, for the most part, stand tall. I’m more than content with that.
- They hold a special appeal for gay men. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it’s been a consistent theme throughout my life, with gay men enthusiastically exclaiming from across bars, ‘Your boobs look stunning in that dress!!!’ I usually respond with a modest grin, fully aware that, yes, indeed they do.
- They’re substantial yet resilient, which is the most critical aspect. Were you aware that 1 in 8 women will face the risk of breast cancer in their lifetime? It’s a chilling statistic, and when you’re going in for annual check-ups from the age of 40 onward, it’s a lot to contend with. However, I’m grateful to report that, up to this point, everything is in good shape (she says, tapping on wood for luck).
My boobs are on my mind today for a specific reason.
Today, I marked my calendar for my yearly mammogram. It’s not until August, but even the thought of it gives rise to a subtle undercurrent of anxiety in me. And it’s not entirely unwarranted. The first few mammograms were uneventful — I’d walk in, the machine would do its breast-squishing thing, I’d leave, and a few days later, I’d receive the reassuring message that all was well and to return next year. However, that changed when I began receiving concerning readings.
The initial occurrence was in 2016, as the clock struck midnight, an email notification from eCare startled me awake. I reluctantly opened it, revealing a chilling message: ‘Suspicious mass on the right side, further testing required.’ eCare, I must say, has the bedside manner of a grumpy cat. Thankfully, I managed to secure an appointment at our local cancer care center within a few days for an ultrasound. The result? A sigh of relief, as it turned out to be clear. Then, déjà vu struck, once more via eCare, and the cycle repeated: a scare, followed by the reassuring clarity of the tests.
The third encounter took place in 2020, right in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. I had to endure a grueling three-week wait for follow-up tests. I made a conscious effort not to let my mind wander into catastrophic scenarios, but those were three agonizingly long weeks. Once more, the results came back clear, and I was overwhelmed with immense relief. It was during this episode that I discovered my breasts are notably dense. This might provide some insight into their enduring perky appearance, but it also makes them a bit challenging to interpret on a mammogram. So, it’s a mix of the good and the not-so-easy-to-read. You take both in stride and return for the annual check-up.
The persistent, low-level anxiety I harbor regarding mammograms.
After experiencing those three unsettling false alarms necessitating follow-up visits to the cancer care center, I’ve made an arrangement with my doctor to conduct my mammograms directly at the center, where I receive real-time results. I have an aversion to waiting, so this approach provides immense relief. Nonetheless, when my mind runs out of other things to fret over, it invariably drifts toward that upcoming appointment, even when it’s months in the future.
Intrusive thoughts about my breasts. I can’t be the only one who experiences this, can I? This is precisely why I’m composing this rather unconventional piece today. I contacted the cancer center, which means the appointment is now a looming presence in my mind. I’m hoping to preempt any premature anxiety regarding my upcoming mammogram. I fully realize it may seem nonsensical to worry, particularly when so many others have faced the reality of breast cancer, making their appointments far weightier. But anxiety doesn’t always follow the rules of reason.
Today, I’ve decided to counter these worries by acknowledging my profound appreciation for these two splendid, substantial companions who have accompanied me on this journey for over four decades. Thank you, my dear breasts. You’re still as fabulous as ever.
The Bottom Line
In this reflection, I’ve taken a moment to celebrate and embrace the unique journey my breasts have carried me through. From the enigmatic appeal they hold for others to the anxiety that comes with annual mammograms, they’ve been a prominent part of my life. While my low-grade stress about these check-ups persists, I’ve chosen to express my gratitude for these faithful companions who have stood by me for over four decades.
It’s a reminder that amid life’s ups and downs, we can still find beauty and resilience in the most unexpected places. So, here’s to you, my dear breasts, for remaining as extraordinary as ever.
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