The Boob Fairy Giveth. And the Boob Fairy Taketh Away.

I asked my mom for my first bra when I was in the fifth grade. Jayla, the girl who set in front of me in class, had one. She didn't need it anymore than I did but you could see the straps through her thin t-shirts. I wanted people to be able to see the straps through my t-shirts.

So, for Christmas that year I got a pink training bra with a pair of matching panties. I was ecstatic. Except for the fact that it was obvioulsy a training bra made for a 6 foot tall adolescent. The shoulder straps were way, way too long and I had to tuck them under the back strap in order for the bra to fit right. Nothing like having nada to hold the straps up!

A few years later, all those "I must increase my bust" exercises (or maybe it was genetics? Hmm) paid off and I was blessed with BOOBS. Hooters. Ta-ta's. A pair. Chi-chi's. I hated them in junior high (hello! Disgusting boys!), but as time went on I learned just how much power a woman holds in a pair of nice ni-ni's.

I've always known my best ASSets and have done what I can to play them up. In my clubbing days that meant a shirt cut down to WHERE with HOLY CLEAVAGE, Batman! Yup, as a young adult I embraced having big boobs. I loved having them. People would complain, "Ohhhh, I have Double D's and my back hurts soooo bad." Pshaw. I was the few, the proud, the big boobed. I even put little gems like these on my Myspace page:

But, alas, all good things must come to an end.

After the birth of my first son, the girls just sort of deflated. I would undress and sing to myself, "Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro . . . " They kept their size and with a good, gravity defying over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, we were in bidness. This time around . . . no such luck. My post-partum breasticles swelled up to Pamela Anderson porportions, but those days are as dead as the wilted cabbage leaves I stuck in my bra.

My boobs. Have left. The building.

I suppose I saw it coming. I noticed shirts and bras fitting just slightly different. But then, this morning, as I was heating a bottle for the baby and Hubs was getting ready to report to drill, he asked: "Do you think you'd ever get implants?"

I would have been offended if not enthralled with the idea that maybe he was offering to pay for them.

Hubs is a butt man, too, so I'm guessing the El Ninas have definitely become minimized if he's going to comment on them.

The price we pay when it comes to weight loss . . .

** On a sidenote, I belong to enough Mommy groups and message boards to know that Boobs are for Babies. However, since mine decided not to cooperate for the most part in that aspect they are merely there for decoration. And now they can't even do that right!

Sunday's Daily Menu:

Breakfast
Apple Cinnamon Pancakes
Total Points: 4

Lunch:
Ham and Swiss Sandwhich
2 Rice Cakes
Total Points: 6

Snack:
Skinny Cow Icecream Bar
Total Points: 1

Dinner
Turkey Meatballs
Baked Potato
Green Beans
Garlic Bread
Total Points: 9

Snack:
Apples with caramel
Total Points: 1

Total Daily Points: 22