Ima Miss You

 

I have never been a very voluptuous lady.  In fact, my figure has been likened to that of a twelve-year-old boy on more than one occasion.  I've been pining for real boobs since, oh, forever, and I was beside myself with delight when the Tit Fairy visited my nightshirt about two months after Lamb's conception.  I woke up not just to boobs, but BOOOOOOBS.  My rack was marvelous.  You could have built monuments to the awesomeness of my brand-new boobs.  Men and women alike struggled not to stare.  For the first time in my life-- get this-- I had cleavage.  And after Lamb was born, they just got bigger!  I couldn't sleep, I was a hormonal wreck, but at least I had fabulous tits. 

Had.  Alas, hormones giveth, and hormones taketh away.  Today as I was boxing up maternity clothes, too-big post-baby clothes, and a pile of nursing bras, I thought to try on one of my old weensy pre-baby bras so I could marvel at the strippertastic nature of my post-baby bazoombas.

The bra fit.

My boobs are gone.

I look like a twelve-year-old boy again. 

So, tonight, a few parting words to my short-lived lady lumps:

Dear Stripper Boobs,

*choke*
*gasp*

 Ima fucking miss you guys!

 *sob*
*sniff*

Love,
Sarah