All my life I’ve had great boobs. No not just great boobs – FANTASTIC boobs.
10 DD’s that more than filled my bra and bounced gently and beautifully when I walked. Boobs that noticeably distracted the opposite sex when I walked down the street even with a supportive bra. Boobs that even once caused a traffic accident when I crossed the street (seriously!). I wasn’t really happy with any other part of my body, but my boobs I adored.READ MORE 10 BEST Outdoor Christmas Gifts for Kids
That is until I had my third child.
My third hungry little boy literally sucked the life right out of them – in four very short months before he weaned himself. Everyone said that if I gave it time, they would come back.
But a year later, they were still the same.
My former gorgeous perky breasts had turned into long ‘wind socks’ of skin that reached my belly button. My former cute little pink areola was now brown and the size of a small saucer with large pimple like bumps all over them. To get them into my bra, I literally had to roll them up. Worse of all was that I lost the ‘fullness’ of my breasts – they were flat, lifeless and tired.
I felt like I’d lost my best friends. My clothes didn’t fit as well anymore and bras were impossible. I still needed a DD bra, but they sagged into the bottom making my bust line look quite odd. Even wearing ‘chicken fillets’ in the cup didn’t give me much of the fullness I had previously.
I started to become quite self-conscious especially in front of hubby. I’d turn the light off if I had to take off my shirt and would try and hide them from him at every opportunity. I wouldn’t let him see me in the shower and would cover them with my hands if he happened to walk in. He was very supportive and knew exactly what was going on. One day, he just came right out with it.
“If they bother you that much, why don’t you do something about it?”
A boob job was something I thought I would never need. Something I had never wanted. But I wanted my old boobs back and thought there was no harm in going and talking to someone about it.
I did the usual research on the internet and asked a few of my friends and went and saw three surgeons. All agreed that I needed a ‘breast lift’ to get rid of the excess skin and then tiny implants behind the muscle for the fullness. They all could also cut down my areola so it was cute and pert again although there was nothing they could do about the colour.
I booked in with the surgeon I liked the most (and was most reasonably priced!). The first consultation was deciding on an implant size. I had to wear a sports bra and he would pop an implant into the bra to test for fullness. As I am quite small around the middle, I had to choose a small one. He wouldn’t allow me to go any bigger – I liked that. I didn’t want to be ‘big’ – just wanted it to look like it did beforehand. The thought of the cut was really quite terrifying, he had to cut around my nipple (to lift it) and cut quite a significant amount of skin underneath the breast. I tried not to think about it too much.
The operation went really really well and was an overnight stay in the hospital. I was extremely bruised and tender for the first 10 days or so, but after then, it only ached a little bit. The hardest part was not being able to lift the kids up – so I would sit down and put them on my lap for cuddles. Six weeks later, there was no pain, no bruising and the scars were healing well (I taped the scars for six months afterwards).
Not a single person picked that I had had a boob job done (or if they did, they didn’t say it). But the difference in myself was incredible. I was so much more confident, I held my head up high. Clothing fitted me again and looked lovely. I looked just as good as I did before children.
A few years down the track, I don’t regret my decision to have it done at all. I’m still so happy with them – they jiggle when I walk and don’t look fake at all! My hubby has been great and although he wasn’t ever a fan of ‘fakies’ or ‘bolt-on’s’ as he called them, he loves the fact that I am happy. I’ve gone back to loving my boobs again.
Story by Cynthia B