So, here's the thing (oh blogger mobile ap you are sooo much better than blogger on the laptop) I have never liked my boobs, they lack a certain something.... let me think.... size, that's it, size. My 34B's have never really cut the mustard with me.
When I was pregnant 11 years ago they swelled to a massive 34C which deflated as soon as the boy was born. But, on the plus side I was only 26, young and perky and nothing sagged.
My lovely husband when we first met, would tell me that my boobs were of a good shape and I had nothing to worry about. Then along came Fatts - a beautiful bundle of joy obviously but also the cause of sagging and shrinking to a 34A. This has made me quite fed up. I could more or less cope with B's but now I look like a boy - scrawny and no female definition. I should be all Caitlin Moran about it and be joyous with my lot (and grow a 1970's bush while I'm at it) but I'm not. I rarely let my husband touch me and I'm embarrassed when he does. I look in the mirror at them and it makes me sad.*
So, this is how finances work in our marriage. I pay all the monthly bills and rent, and the other half pays for car stuff, credit cards and saves for us. He said to me one day 'we could get you a boob job.' Just like that. Then he bashed on about how he'd done some facts and figures and if he could save the deposit we could totally do it.
That was a year ago. Today I meet with the consultant. hopefully he'll tell me he can make me a D and book me in for February. THEN I'LL HAVE NEW BOOBS.
So I'm writing this before we set off to Carlisle to meet the consultant. My hands are a bit shaky and my eyeliner wonky because I'm nervous and excited. Wish me luck.
*yes I know I'm being very shallow and I should be grateful I've got my health and there are a million better things the money could be spent on.
Also, no one really knows about this, not my family or many friends so shhhh, mums the word.
