Bye bye, banana. HELLO MELONS!

Its been several months since I last posted. I have been in a funk I guess. However, after a long and busy summer I figured I needed to do some updating. If for nothing else than if my great grandchildren ever google me, they will have a plethora of knowledge of who I was. (and more than enough information to help them complete the family history-mental health section at their doctors office)

My banana penis (aka my inguinal hernia) is gone. It had decided that one night during a wedding where my dress was amazing and my shoes were fabulous, it was going to ensure that I have no fun. It popped out for good, and I ended up with emergency surgery two days later.

In hindsight, I am grateful. The gods were with me, and as history has proven....

weddings =sammartino babies. I took a knife...BUT dodged a bullet.

Now that the whole looking like a transvestite in my underwear and bikinis was behind me, it was time time that the final phase of my woman-like transformation was to be completed.

Everyone knows my boobs. Mostly everyone has seen them, talked about them, made fun of them at some time or another. I am both proud and ashamed that I nursed my Emma for 29.5 months. Twenty nine and one half months of pure mammary demolition.

They were basically gone. During the summer, I had resorted to stacking several cup paddings from various bikini tops to insert into the one I was wearing. I would also shove water filled fake boobs (walmart....$20) into the linings just to make the tops fit. It consumed an entire morning just to get ready for the beach.

"You know have the body of a 12 year old boy" was a phrase that I heard on more than one occasion. And, as I lost more weight, and spent more time in the gym, things went from bad to worse. It was official. I was fast becoming a candidate for National Geographics Nude Centerfold. All I needed was a bone ring hanging from my lower lip, and I was a sure thing.

That was it. I had worked to hard to lose the baby fat (that I actually put on AFTER the baby was born) and get me ass into shape. No matter what i did, however, there was no way I was going to grow boobs. That ship sailed. So, in true desperate housewife fashion....I decided to pay for them.

I made an appointment and went to my consult.

The doctor came in, shook my hands. The first question he asked. "what size were you thinking?" "small. well, bigger than what I have now, but relatively small" I didn't want to require wearing skis to remain upright. I just wanted to look normal. I told him I wasn't interested in looking like a stripper or a porn star. (not that theres anything wrong with that), it just wasn't my intent. I didn't want it to be blatantly obvious that I had them done either.

I also had to prepare Emma that the doctor was going to fix my boobs. I had told her on many occasions that she had broken them. I also told her that the NEW ones did not come prefilled with any kind of beverage. (and even if they had.....I would've chosen an alcoholic one)

I felt it beneficial to advise her what was to happen to her source of comfort and nutrition. I hadn't, however, anticipated that she would exclaim to everyone and their sister that "doctor gonna fix Mommy's boobs"

After a few days, I called and set my date. Now, I had to research what exactly I was going to put in there.

At first, I thought you went in there and said "A, B, C, D, etc". I had no idea that there was an actual and mathematical component to choosing breast implants. I studied, and researched, and studied some more. It went by "cc's".

I fashioned tester boobs from panty hose and rice, which I had learned about online. We referred to them as "RICE BOOBS. Oh, of course I had all three of my daughters completely involved. They (the rice boobs) actually ended up providing a good deal of fun. We played dodge ball with them daily. (I had made several sets in different cc amounts) We would hide them behind our back, and ambush the unsuspecting target whilst yelling RIIIIIIIICE BOOOOOBS!

In addition to cc's, there were three different projection styles. The first was wider, and gave more side boob. The next...a little bit more narrow and more front projection, and the third, very narrow and in your face.

You had to make sure that you chose the right dimension and projection for your body width.

I was so afraid I would make the wrong decision. This wasn't like paint or curtains. I couldn't just change them after they were in. I had to dedicate my full self in making this decision.

The time came for me to put in my order. It was two weeks pre op and they were coming from across the country. Even after I had made my decision, I questioned it every day.

The night before surgery, I posted on facebook for a ride home from the hospital. I had arranged to stay at my friends house for a couple of days while recuperating. I had actually been looking forward to this aspect more than anything else. I couldn't imagine anything better, than being forced to lay on a couch, completely stoned on pain medication, with no children in sight for at least 48 hours and doing nothing more than feeling myself up.

That night, I went to my friends house to take a couple of "before pictures"

I was a bit nervous as I began to take my shirt off. I turned to face her, with nothing on from the waist up. The look on her face said it all. But that was not to be....she had something to say.

She tilts her head..

"thats awful"

OK, I know. Take the picture.

"if anyones a candidate, you are"

I know. Take the damn picture

"Insurance should pay for that"

TAKE THE FUCKING PICTURE

Finally the day arrived.

As I was being wheeled into the operating room, the last thing i remember saying is please don't kill me. After what seemed like only minutes I awoke, cupped my new breasts, and mumbled...."I have boobs....and Im not dead"

I called my ride and away I went...it was approximately 5 hours after I had arrived.

It only took a couple of days before I was back on my feet again. The bigger girls had come to visit and had seen the twins. They approved.

When I finally came home, I had to reveal to emma my new boobs. When I lifted my shirt to show her, she simply said "OH....MY....GOD". I was like, " I know...nice, huh?"

I was immediately obsessed and in love. Scarred, swollen, and scary, they were the most perfect boobs I had ever seen. I constantly touched them, squeezed them and looked at them. I could hardly believe they were mine. Of course, I began trying on things I could never wear before.

I am the classic boob job person. I have no problem flashing them to whomever wants a peak. Its almost obnoxious. More people have gotten to second base with me over the past two weeks then in my entire high school career.

I also find it funny that people who maybe hadn't heard, will say to me that I look good...and ask if i have lost weight, been working out more, or ask me what I have being doing? I am perfectly honest and tell them no to all of those things....I have just gotten new boobs. Thus far, 3 woman have made appointments with my doctor.

I also found it important to tell my girls WHY i did this, and that it was for me...and no one else. I asked my oldest if she thought that this was a bad example...because some people think it is. She said no....my old boobs were a worse example. Further validating my decision.

It has been nearly 3 weeks, and I continue to appreciate my new additions. I no longer need to wear training bras or nursing bras.

I continue to support the art of cosmetic surgery. And maybe someday, if someone can explain the what the hell vaginal rejuvenation is.......well, no...maybe I'll draw the line at breasts....