To lift or not to lift....

Ladies and gentleman... it is time to get personal. If you can't handle it, go back to the silly posts about putting toddlers in baby car seats and driving my automatic with both feet. Are they gone yet? Ok, here's the big announcement... drum roll please... I have come to the conclusion that I want a breast lift. Pause for reaction.

After two children, both of whom were quasi-breastfed (meaning they drank breast milk, but I pumped... so its not technically breastfeeding), I have realized that my breasts hang about five inches from the floor. If I were only 8 inches tall.... I suppose that would be just about right, but at 5 feet 8 inches tall it just doesn't work. I have weighed the pros of keeping them like this, and I will certainly save money on bras since I can just tuck them into the waistband of my jeans. And, think about how much easier it would be to get through tight doorways now that my breasts are vertical instead of horizontal. I told Mark, my husband, last night that I would like to save his hard earned money (because God knows I don't make any) for what I consider a must, and he said the appropriate husband comment of "you don't need that, you look great." While I appreciate the sentiment, however fake it may be, I am not really thinking about it from his perspective. God knows he wasn't looking for Heidi Klum when he married me. That, or his bad vision is much worse than I thought. If I had it done, it would be for me... or George Clooney (although unless I could go for liposuction, butt lift, and an all over face transformation into Angelina Jolie, there really is no point in trying to snag him with a perkier pair). So that means it really would be just for me. Because I don't need one more thing on the list of physical flaws to make me feel self conscious about.

The truth of the matter is that we couldn't afford it anyway, and if we could, that stupid Jiminy Cricket conscience of mine would not let me spend that kind of money on a breast lift when it could be put toward the new minivan we desperately need. And really, if you are tooling around town in a minivan, no one is looking at your breasts anymore anyway. So, maybe this post is a plea for help. If anyone knows of a concrete bra maker, send them my way. That is what its going to take to get the girls up into the air where they belong.