Smuggling Melons

To be honest, I've never really been overly fond of my body. Blame the media, marketing, Barbie, or whomever, but it's true; I've got some insecurites. When I was in high school, I made a list of the 5 things I'd change about myself if I could. They are (in no particular order): 1) my height (I'm close to 5'3'' in the right shoes), 2) my weight, 3) my teeth, 4) my fingers (very chubby and too short), and 5) my cheeks (hello, have you seen them... it's like I'm storing stuff for the winter!). Let's skip over the fact that I both made the list and still remember the list. The one thing that I never complained about was my chest. Yes, I truely believe that both the Lord and genetics blessed me in that category.

Now let's skip forward to present day. The insecurites are still there and on full alert because I just had Tyler. I need to start working out, but I don't have the energy. And I hate that I can't really wear anything in my closet. I have 6 shirts that fit me, and I'm tired of looking at myself in the same old boring outfits day after day after day after day. Part of my wardrobe problems is the body weight, the other is my boobs. They're ginormous! When I was pregnant Joe and I used to joke around that my boobs were trying to keep up with my growing belly. It was funny at the time...

Seriously, breast-feeding has giving me boobs that people pay to have (minus the milk, of course). The problem I'm having is that even if I wanted to wear anything that I wore prior to being pregnant, it looks like I'm smuggling melons under my shirt. It's ridiculous. It'd be comical, if it wasn't me I was looking at in the mirror. Too much of a good thing is still just too much. At this point I'm wishing I had the old me back... insecurites and all.