You started off so small and perky and delighted to be alive. With much resistance you were forced into restricted, itchy cloths, hidden behind uncertainty and embarrassment.
As you grew bigger and heavier you were partially exposed to the world. Pride and uncertainty fighting for the limelight over and over again.
You grew, as did the interest from outsiders. You were tentatively touched in the beginning, than tugged, tweaked, sucked and flicked at a moments notice. Never pain, always pleasure. Especially during the freedom years when the bra was burned and the shirts were extra soft and silky.
Than the first stages of pregnancy created a tenderness so painful that it had never even been experienced during the visits of Aunt Flow. And so started the never ending stage of HANDS OFF.
Pregnancy complete, baby arrives, the torture truly begins. You grow to extremes unchartered. Your consistency changes from being kind of malleable to boulders, big, hard, untouchable boulders.
And then you are introduced to the new boob owners. They are cute but MEAN. They have no qualms about pulling, scratching, yanking, nibbling, vacuum suctioning and just being outright inappropriate with their handling of you, dear boobs. And this new guy in town? Well, since he has produced his first tooth, he is getting closer and closer to being overthrown. With every clamping, there is an absolute fear that parts of you will be missing after each forced extraction.
So to you, boobies, my sincerest apologies for the years of abuse, for the cruel acts of the children and for the unnatural sag created by age. I am so very very sorry. May you survive the A-Rock, living to see another day!