I've Got This

Dear Tissue Expanders, Tonight is our last night together.  I'm breaking up with you. It's been real, these last three and a half months.  Really, real .  So real that you have been on my mind for every single waking moment, as well as countless non-waking ones.  Although our time has drawn to a close and you will be carelessly discarded in the morning for a pair of more demure implants, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you how I feel:  it's not me, it's you. I thought I knew what I was getting into, choosing to go the tissue-expanders-to-implants route.  I heard that there was pain and discomfort with each subsequent fill, but I had no idea that you would become such a constant, pervasive force.  You have dominated most of my thoracic sensory nerve activity since Valentine's day.  You are all I feel.  Even now, after all this time, you're still the dominant presence.  I still feel like I'm wrapped tightly, and I give you ...

I love babies.  I absolutely, positively LOVE them.  I want to watch them, to hold them, to look at their little features, fingers, toes. I loved my own.  To pieces.  If I was holding him, there was an unstoppable force that drew my lips to his head.  I had to smell him and kiss his face... I just had to.  Constantly.  That force is still strong.  Mostly if he's sleeping, because he has now developed an aversion to being kissed on the face by his mom all day. Puhleeze. There is something so incredibly natural about holding a baby to your body, about cradling it to your bosom.  It's really the absolute most natural act for almost any person.  Your breast (as a location, not anatomical objects) is where you breathe.  It's where you love.  It's where you experience the best and worst of life -- crushing love best, and crushing love worst. My friend just had a baby.  I spent most of her pregnancy with her, experiencing a...