Thursday, August 12, 2010
Ever think about what cosmetic surgery you would get if you won a gift certificate to your local nip & tuck artist? For me, it would be a breast reduction. I am not so endowed that I need such a surgery for any sort of health issue, I just feel like I am done with them now.
Before I get rolling though, I need to state: I truly appreciate my breasts. They nourished all three of my daughters, in fact, I spent over 5 years of my life nursing. Yep, my breasts saved me lots of dosh in formula, let me enjoy a truly lovely relationship with my wee ones, and I never had to sterilize nipples in the middle of the night (ow). The girls have served me well.
Besides that though, they have done nothing more than fill out the darts in my dresses and sit uneasily in bras. Loosing all this weight has just kind of deflated them, poor things, so they don't really fill out my bras as well as they used to. I have always been the size where the discomfort of not wearing a bra and the discomfort of wearing one are almost perfectly off-set. Its not that I don't wear bras. I have pink frilly ones and sleek black ones and padded ones and athletic ones and a couple of the organic cotton ones I wear for every day.
I like bras, I just long to not need one.
Recently I realized bra-less yoga is amazing. I never noticed how wearing a bra gets in the way of a truly chest-expanding inhale. Why didn't I realize that wearing an elastic rigging device strapped around my chest and over my shoulders would affect my breath???? Here I am always so diligent about removing all jewelry before practicing yoga but never considered removing the strap cinched down around my heart!
This morning, I rode my bike bra-less - we were out in the middle of no where so it didn't really matter. How fun! It was so great not to have the greasy wet boob sweat line under my bra strap. Having just a t-shirt on made me feel cool and light and really strong. I think I was getting drunk on the extra oxygen.
Biking and yoga are fine, and so is weight lifting, but running or skipping or dancing or trampolining calls for either (a) elastic rigging with metal hooks and tie-down strap-tighteners or (b) a breast reduction.
For now, I need all the rigging but in my fantasy post-surgical future I have tiny little (and possibly even perky) A-cup breasts that stay where they are put. I guess now that I am post-menopausal all my secondary-sex characteristics just seem like party decorations the next morning... kind of melancholy, kind of useless, kind of empty, somehow emotionally draining. Man-of-my-dreams still likes them, but I even had him convinced for a moment or two how perky and perfect (perkfect?) they would be if they were a couple sizes smaller. Then his inner cheap-skate and his inner boob-man got together and talked him out of it.
Alas, if I can't justify the bother and cost of surgery, my plan B is to just put them up on rollers, slap on a bra, and sally forth into old ladyhood!!! But I am never practicing yoga in a bra again.