In the past, my breasts were the epitome of reliability. They followed my lead, maintained their position, and generally required little attention. They stood proud and faced the front with unwavering commitment. In essence, they were dependable.
However, after nursing five children, I began to notice a shift in their behavior. A sense of rebellion emerged, and they began to sag far beyond my comfort level. Now, they can be rolled up like a burrito, and getting dressed in the morning resembles the process of stuffing a Thanksgiving turkey. They rarely stand upright anymore, and I can’t even say they’re “at ease.” They’ve become so nonchalant that when I do manage to position them, they often point in various, unpredictable directions. A final glance in the mirror has become necessary to check for misalignment—a task that’s both distracting and perplexing for me and anyone who happens to glance my way. Yet, these minor acts of defiance pale in comparison to the ultimate betrayal my breasts orchestrated.
I have a penchant for purchasing Groupons—often forgetting about them until the last minute when they’re about to expire. Recently, I bought a Groupon for a massage for my birthday, only to realize I hadn’t booked an appointment until the week it was set to expire. The only therapist available was a male massage therapist, whom I jokingly refer to as my “mansuesse.” In my pre-baby days, I relished the thought of a mansuesse—strong hands, firm pressure, and a lovely hour of silence. However, now I felt the need to apologize for my body’s new state. “Five kids… the old mare isn’t what she used to be,” I thought as I bravely scheduled my last-minute appointment.
Initially, the massage was blissful. My mansuesse inquired about my preferences, and once he began, he fell silent, allowing me to drift into relaxation. Everything was going smoothly until the moment of breast betrayal occurred. As my mansuesse lifted my arm to massage my shoulders, one of my breasts, which had been neatly tucked under the covers, decided to make a surprise appearance. In my younger, pre-baby body, this would have been unthinkable.
I froze, contemplating my next move as I lay there, desperately trying to convince myself that if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real. “If I keep my eyes shut and don’t see the exposed breast, it’s as if it never happened,” I reasoned. But the reality was unmistakable—these were not small ‘A’ cups; they were post-baby ‘DD’ cups akin to a large bowl of jelly tumbling off the counter. It was impossible to ignore. Despite my best efforts to remain still and breathe calmly, I found myself in a ridiculous predicament, cursing my rebellious breasts and vowing never to indulge in a massage again.
It took mere seconds for my tactful mansuesse to lower my arm and discreetly adjust the blanket, pulling it up to almost my neck. I could practically hear the collective sigh of relief from my breasts as they were returned to their place. I suspected this encounter might haunt my mansuesse for years to come. Yet, when the massage concluded and I had readjusted myself, I stepped out of the room only to be met with an unexpected offer: “Would you like to book your next appointment?” I was utterly taken aback. I quickly chastised my breasts once more, steeled myself, and scheduled my next massage—complete with an overly generous tip for the poor man.
This experience has taught me to anticipate the unexpected when it comes to my breasts. There’s no telling when they might decide to make an appearance. Nonetheless, I plan to continue visiting the same therapist, as I have little left to lose. Each time he adjusts the sheets, I can’t help but stifle a laugh at my rebellious breasts. Well played, defiant boobs, well played.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the changes in one’s body after motherhood, with a humorous take on the unexpected challenges faced during a massage. It highlights the transition of breast confidence and the humorous consequences that come with it. The narrative serves as a reminder of the unpredictability of life as a parent and the importance of embracing one’s body in its evolved state.