Stephanie is not asking for much this year; she’s asking for less.
Three years ago we had this Christmas photo taken and when I shared it on Facebook my sister immediately commented, “I can’t see your picture because I’m too distracted by your giant boob. It’s right in the middle of the pic and it’s bigger than the baby’s head!”
I wasn’t even nursing at the time, so I don’t have that excuse. Three years, one more baby, and 9 extra months of breastfeeding later…they’re even worse.
So I decided to write a letter to Santa asking for help with my predicament.
Hey big guy. How’s it hanging? I know you’re super busy, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I’d really love a breast reduction for Christmas. I’m assuming you’ll outsource this request to a qualified physician, but it would be awesome if you’d fork over the cash. (You kind of owe me anyway for the past 5 years of Christmas presents I bought for the kids under the assumption that you’d pay me back. I thought you were good for it.)
You’d never know it from the way the Kardashian sisters are running around all over TV, but it is actually really difficult to go about everyday life with enormous boobs. Real ones, anyway. These suckers are heavy. I tried to weigh one on the fruit scale at the grocery store, but the manager gave me the stink eye. If Jerry McGuire taught us anything, it’s that the human head weighs eight pounds. My boobs are each bigger than a human head, so that’s like an extra 20 pounds. Would you want to walk around with two human heads attached to your chest?
Also, I want to lose weight and I am honestly trying. I am going to the YMCA and doing Zumba and everything. Do you know that I had to leave Zumba class one day because the girl next to me whispered and motioned to me to check my shirt? Guess what? One giant boob had escaped from my sports bra and was bouncing all over the place. Which brings me to my next exercise dilemma: I had to quit the 30 Day Shred because my boobs kept hitting my face during all the jumping jacks. Yes, I can literally hit myself in my own face with my own boob. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.
Other reasons include:
- It’s super awkward having to explain to a three year old why mommy is lifting up her boobs to put deodorant under there.
- Department stores don’t carry my size. (36DDD) It sucks to have to buy underwear off the Internet. Or infomercials. (FYI, the Genie Bra really is a phenomenal product.)
- My boobs are in my armpit when I lie down. This is not an expression. I have to sleep with my arms in the Chicken Dance position.
- I already had a scare a few years ago (at age 26!) with “something palpable” floating around in there that resulted in a lot of painful tests and blood work.
- My back is constantly in pain. Bleck.
- I hear this surgery includes nipple reshaping. I’m gonna need to get me some of that.
So if you can find it in your heart of hearts to think of me this Christmas, I’d love to find a scalpel in my stocking.
Mistletoe and Mastectomies,
This original piece by Stephanie Giese was written exclusively for In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC.