I feel juvenile using that term. If you're a guy, feel free to skip this post as I ramble about my mammary glands.
They're shrinking. I knew they would, but having to shop for a smaller bra because the one I was wearing was beginning to laugh and snicker, "Yeah right, honey" each day was not nearly as fun as shopping for smaller pants.
I honestly don't care about bust size. If I were alone on a deserted island, being flat chested would be preferable, because boobs make running, jumping, and shimmying down trees less feasible.
But since I don't live on a deserted island (and hardly ever shimmy down a tree, for that matter), I am inclined to appreciate what God gave me, because my husband appreciates what God gave me. It's not much, but it'll do, and now it's less than before.
Fortunately, I'm shrinking in proportion to the rest of my body, however. I began to realize that if I kept the boobs I had while heavy, I'd begin to look fake; top-heavy; like the ladies at the gym who have been altered. And I'm all about being natural, so I should be happy about this, right?
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