Why I got a Boob Job and So Should You
Boobs, you always want what you can’t have. Luscious breasts are every (almost) teenagers dream come true; for guys and girls duh. It’s the ultimate sign of femininity. A nice solid C cup is the ideal of course. We go through puberty hoping and wishing that we meet that C mark.
As a preteen, I was super skinny. Like to the point where the veins were showing on my forehead. I was not anorexic, I was just not a foodie. In 6th grade when my friends were beginning to grow boobs, I was flat. I was so flat both front and back that boys would make fun of me saying I look like a “board”. I was a tad hurt, but still hopeful that I would grow into the curves I so much desired.
Once puberty hit me full fledge, I definitely got the curves I wanted, with the addition of a few extra lbs. I was definitely a C cup with a pant size 7 and I hated my new body (as most teenage girls do). Once my hormones regulated and I began eating a healthier diet (less pizza, more veggies), I dropped a few lbs. and guess what my boobs shrunk along with my a$$.
I went down to the average breast size, 34B. I was actually content with this. They were small but perky. With the right push-up bra, I could attain mad cleavage. I got my nipple pierced then (left one in case you’re wondering). Although I was content with my size and breast appearance, I always promised myself I would one day get a boob job.
Fast forward to age 23… I got pregnant with twins and my boobs got ginormous (Double D’s) and I loved them. After I gave birth I attempted to nurse, but couldn’t because my preemies had latching issues, so I pumped. And I pumped, and I pumped. Every 3-4 hours around the clock to ensure I had enough breastmilk to feed my little girls who desperately needed the nutrition that only my body could provide for them.
I knew this was disastrous for my breasts. I received warnings all around, but I didn’t care. I knew what I had to do and didn’t care about the appearance of my breasts at the time.
Once the pumping seceded, my breasts quickly deflated. When I say “deflated”, I mean it. They turned saggy. It killed my self-esteem. My body was returning to pre-babies shape and size, but my boobs were never going to go back. It was destroying my confidence. I no longer felt sexy and it impacted my sex life.
The year my kids turned three, I decided it was time to seek professional help. I wanted my pre-baby boobs back. I didn’t even want them bigger, just fuller. I went with the plastic surgeon that my family members recommended. I knew it was going to be a tough recovery, but I didn’t care. I was determined.
I went with 350 cc, saline implants, under the muscle (in case I had more children and wanted to breastfeed). The recovery was worse than labor. Three days of hell; pain, tiredness, nausea, vomiting (until I switched from painkillers to regular Tylenol). When I first got a glance of my new boobs I freaked out. They were HUGE. I regretted the size. Sh*t I went too big! I looked like a blonde bimbo. Everyone ensured me they were going to “go down”, they were just massively swollen.
Two weeks later I ventured to Victoria’s Secret for my first bra’s. 32DD my friends, 32DD! It was a little bit of a shocker, I will tell you that. However, after a few more weeks, as the swelling went down, I got used to my size.
They no longer looked “fake”, they began to look more natural as they settled. I got some of my confidence back and who wouldn’t, they looked fabulous in a lace bra with no lining. I couldn’t wait to go bikini shopping!
6 months later, I was so happy with the results. It really was one of the best decisions of my life. I felt more feminine and sexier. Just to clarify, my husband had nothing to do with my decision to get a boob job. He didn’t care. I did it for myself.