twenty-somethings' boobs vs. thirty-somethings' boobs

what a sad, sad, saggy tale of two landscapes. 

there's a scene in 'the sweetest thing' when '20-something'-my-ass cameron diaz compares the perkiness of her chest at 22 vs. 28. as she stands in the mirror in her itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-star-spangled-banner-bikini, she lifts and lowers her arms to demonstrate the consequence of adding age + gravity together. and it's the only math problem i can fully comprehend. 

there was once a time when my 34 d's, were a perky set of often graded well-rounded 'a's' by many a male suitors. there was once a time that my lift was natural, my cleavage was more bounce than bulge, and i could take a g*ddamn yoga class in a bandeau! A BANDEAU! 

now i'm left with the sloppy leftovers. the best of my breasts have been used and abused by my twenties, years of monthly menstrual inflations, and the aftermath of the post-baby, deflate-gate of milk production.

they're not terrible now, but i find myself considering options i never had to before.

like, rather than just resorting to the good ol' swoop + scoop for some extra pep in my breasts - i've adopted the 'duct + tape maneuver' to prevent my side boob and my armpit from getting in some sort of chaffing standoff. 

or, now when i want to buy that cute AF v-neck-high-waisted-a-line dress, i have to consider the appropriateness of all social interactions in said dress. husband - love it. co-worker - want it. uncle - slight discomfort. father - gauge his eyes out. BAH! in your twenties there is an unspoken social acceptance of fashion indecency - ESPECIALLY - when it comes to your boobs. and your ass cheeks.  

worst of all, i've lost the leisurely pleasure of walking around my g*ddamn house naked! it actually hurts now. not just physically, but visually. i can't walk by a mirror without mimicking the arm lifts that cameron diaz made a household pose for 30 something women everywhere. 

do i miss my perky breasts? abso-fucking-lutely. do i wish they were a bit more compact and a wee bit more intact? you betcha. but though i may have lost the ability to leave the house bra-less and not give a fuck, i've gained the perspective that how i view myself now, will not be how i view myself tomorrow.

in my twenties, i didn't appreciate how fucking godly my breasts were. i didn't appreciate half of the attributes that made me a knockout. i was too preoccupied with pimples and avoiding the muffin top plague, that i lost sight, literally, at how beautiful i was, and am. 

we are so hard on ourselves. critical of every body part. line on our face. grey in our hair. 

i know now that though my breasts aren't exactly what they used to be, much like my hangovers in my twenties weren't what they were in my teens...i mean, at twenty one. i know that one day i will look back at pictures of myself and think - holy shit, HOT FUCKING MAMA, what FUCKING FABULOUS BREASTS! i will scoff myself for not taking advantage of their full shape and the womanly figure that i now own. similarly to the way that i stalked my pre-preggo photos when i was rocking my 35 pound baby weight gain and cursing myself for not walking everywhere, naked, at all times, before getting knocked up. 

so i lost a little perk. but i gained a cup size of perspective. and that's more fucking sexy anyway. eh. it's close.