Six months ago I had my boobs done. After breast-feeding a ravenous baby for 6 months I decided that restoring them to their former glory was the only way forward. You try your best by Ma Nature to ensure your child has the best start in life and what do you get in return? Swollen udders for half a year and a couple of wholemeal pitta breads post feeding where you’re boobs used to be. I would like to say it is a small price to pay in return for the beautiful bond feeding ones young ensures but I’d be lying, my tits were my trophy and despite appreciating the fact that I single handedly (for fathers don’t have breasts, 6 month paternity leave? don’t get me started) fed my daughter for half a year, I was a little bit peeved that the prize for my efforts was the chest skin of a 90 year old and more lines on my boobs than the A to Z of inner city Birmingham.
We are encourage these days to embrace the changes our bodies bring with motherhood, Kate Winslet claims to ‘look at her stretch marks as proof of her beautiful children’ Angelina Jolie sees her post birth body as ‘a trophy to motherhood’. Easy to say with an in house chef and personal trainer 5 times a week. It’s nonsense. Stretch marks don’t suit anyone, and embracing my ‘post baby curves’ is as likely as those 2 replacing Ronnie and Roxy behind the bar at the Old Vic, It just isn’t going to happen.
It is not a decision I took lightly, general aesthetic, invasive surgery, foreign bodies inside you, risk of hardening, infection and worse, so yes, it did take me a good 5 minutes to weight up the pros and cons, I cross roads every day and, gasp, board a plane from time to time, so call me reckless but I decided to risk it, and called the surgeon.
The Surgery itself was a Harley Street address, plush seats, endless lifestyle magazines and a receptionist with more botox than Amanda Holden before the finals of Britain’s got Talent. Framed cuttings of my Surgeons previous work peppered the walls, he is allegedly famed for mastering the natural look and cited Jordan amongst his many celebrity clients, hmmm… who am I to argue. Once in I was asked to remove my top, mum tum on show, saggy tits in pure pitta bread abandonment and tube lighting brighter than a 24 hour north Korean Primark factory, to say that I would have agreed to a 36FF had he suggested it would be an understatement. Fortunately after much prodding of said mammaries we decided on a 34D, a size which apparently suited my frame but that would enhance my curves and bring back some volume. Do I need time to think about it? No thank you Doctor, where’s the dotted line.
The operation cost 5 and a half thousand pounds, and although admittedly it is a huge sum of money, my reasoning was that most people wouldn’t think twice about spending that on a car, I’ll happily drive around in a beaten up Honda Jazz for the next 10 years if it means I get my babies back, after all you can’t slip 2 tonnes of cold steel into a LBD and make it look fantastic, and a sexy man certainly doesn’t talk to you’re hatchback when he should be looking at your face.
The operation itself was quickly over, in and out in a day, a fist full of after care instruction pamphlets and a box of vitamin E. Strapped up to the nines, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t painful, the sensation of 2 lumps of silicone being inserted into your chest takes a bit of getting used to, the swelling tender at best downright painful at worst is uncomfortable and the 24 bra wearing is a pain to start with, but once all was settled and my new lacy myla bra was filled with 2 beautiful mounds of fleshy firm womanliness, I felt a million dollars (or 5 and a half thousand pounds to be precise).
My opinion of surgery is simple, if you don’t like it change it, my desire for better boobs was breed purely from vanity, I won’t claim that the insecurity of those wretched pitta breads left me agoraphobic and unable to look at a full length mirror for the rest of my life, because actually my changed body never affected me that badly. I simply could and did. The fantastic advancement in surgery means that it is only the 2 small scars under the crease of my breasts that allow anyone to know the difference, I have fallen back in love with my curves, I fill a Diane Von frustenberg wrap dress to perfect and feel utterly fantastic every time I step out of my old Honda jazz, so if you ask me was it worth it, I’d say you bet your life it was, the only burning question now…. Whatever shall I have done next?