Rants From An Angry Flat-Chested Woman.

Has time somehow warped and I'm in seventh grade again? I don't see OPJH anywhere around me. I certainly don't see my three favorite boys, waiting at the edge of the soccer field to walk me part of the way home. My backpack is definitely filled with much harder school work.

And yet, you feel the need to continually bring up the fact that I am damn near totally flat-chested. I'm not sure how it's any of your business, but since you so adamantly want to discuss my bust size, the least you could do is let me in on the conversation.

Would you like to know how it feels to be this way? To know that you have to go bra shopping, and there's a very, very real possibility that you'll have to special order something because, guess what? Stores don't carry bras in such small cup sizes with adult sized bands. (I'm a 34-36, and I'm so not giving you more fuel by admitting my cup size. Don't even ask.)

Would you like to know how it feels to be a grown woman, with two kids, and be seriously considering going into the training bra section? After all, they have them with underwires and molded cups now.

Would you like to know how it feels to be so disproportionate? To not fill your clothes? To feel like you're less than a woman, because you don't have all the female equipment?! 

Would you like to know how it feels to constantly be reminded of the flaw you're most sensitive about, because people think there's something wrong with you?

You couldn't possibly know these things. So I'll tell you how it all feels.

See, it feels a lot like your value is somehow tied to your cup size. Mine's small, so I must be less valuable than someone with C cups. My best friend whom I've known my entire life has huge boobs, her value must be off the charts. Is that the lesson we want to teach our children? Do we want our sons ignoring what could be the most amazing woman in the world, because she's an A cup? Worse still, do we really want to raise another generation of girls who constantly wonder if they're good enough because of boobs? That is exactly what is going to happen if we keep this shit up.

I AM FLAT-CHESTED. I'm sorry that's such a problem for you. Believe me, I want nothing more to fix it.

Which brings me to my next thought... This feeling? It makes me so angry at myself. You have made me feel so low, so un-feminine, so un-pretty because of my bust size, that I would give whatever I could to change it. I've honestly gotten to where I've more than entertained the idea of surgery. Nothing drastic, nothing ridiculous, but just to feel like I am still a woman, to feel like I am an adult, to feel like I'm not deformed.

Yet my brain says to me, "If they don't stop talking about your tits now, they're never going to stop if you have any sort of procedure done." And then it says, "You're being such a hypocrite. You're always talking about being comfortable in your skin, yet here you are, looking up boob jobs."

Maybe I am a hypocrite, at least in this subject. But I'd rather be a hypocrite than some dick who is constantly reminding women of their flaws. At the same time though, does striving to make myself comfortable in my own skin actually make me a hypocrite, or just proactive? Since you seem to have so many opinions of me, why don't you answer that for me? I'll be waiting on your reply.

Despite what you say, despite what I feel, I know that my cup size is not a measure of my personhood. I may feel like I'm not much of a woman, but you don't get to remind me of that. So just go on ahead and shut. the. hell. up.

~Dee

Why I fail At Blogging.

  

There are plenty of reasons, really, as to why I fail at blogging. Not the least of which being that I get distracted by other things.

This is me. All. The. Time.  Source:
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6ts3vBuzq1rpga6zo1_500.jpg

Truthfully though, life at Casa De Wholesome has been hectic. February started it all with the passing of my grandfather at the beginning of my school semester. A month later, my grandmother passed away, I caught a raging case of pneumonia, and my mom had been hospitalized and nearly lost her foot. Things sort of spiraled into this never ending tunnel of crazy for a while there.

I wish. So bad, do I wish. Source:http://42floors-wp.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/beach-vacations-caribbean.jpg

I finally got to go on vacation with the whole Jeep family, and while that should have been refreshing and joyous, it was a lot like work. Moms know how it goes. We spend the week before dealing with kids that are crazy excited about the vacation, so they're more nutso than usual, and we try to pack as much as we can as far in advance as we can.

Then it's travel day and the kids are even crazier because it's al.most.time. and they just don't get that the calmer they are while you try and pack up the car, the faster everyone will get there. Our travel day was marred by Jeep Man's precious Jeep deciding that it doesn't need breaks.

This is what vacation usually looks like for moms.
Source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Olq3m9xCxKZyLHPsSDM1nn8G1rlos4343TqfVlTSDb4ypqoweXd_z3xH_OC4XHpw42CUl_LT0Z-PlpgKMyLzv0JXyP7pSgC3GJRjDKvipJ8Fg4KvKJj_BH6mSP50g__bP9qalKNPMZs/s320/busy_mom.jpg

So, because this is me we're talking about, I'm not going to pretend that the rest of vacation was particularly crazy or particularly relaxing. We definitely enjoyed ourselves, and the kids had a blast, but like all vacations, there were still things like laundry and dishes and baths and bedtimes.

Life has been a bit calmer lately, but not too much. At least, not enough that it's taken my stress level down a notch.

The stress of school was getting to me, so I withdrew from one of my classes so that I could focus solely on my more difficult class and pass it, rather than fail two classes. I feel guilty about that, but as a mom, wife and student, I have to do what's right for me. That's been a difficult lesson to learn, by the way. I'm still stressed about school. I've got a short amount of time to get through a lot of work, but I know that I can do it as long as I remain dedicated.

The kids, well... it's summer vacation. Monster is out of school every day, and I can honestly say that as much as I enjoy him, I do not enjoy the disruption of our routine. Although, the not having to wake up to an alarm clock is definitely nice. I hate alarm clocks.

Roo is potty learning... training... I have no idea what the PC term is now. Whatever. The point is, she's trying to figure out how to empty her teeny, tiny bladder into a teeny, little potty seat. She prompted this activity, so I just knew it would be nice and easy. I was, again, wrong. (Side note, as a mom, shouldn't I be right more often? Isn't that one of the perks? Like playing Dessert God and only having to answer to yourself when you procrastinate on the laundry for a week.) Roo is definitely interested, and she's even been successful a few times, however she seems to not really care one way or another where she pees.

All in all, life has been, well, life. I've failed you, faithful readers, but I promise to try not to again. Unless I get distracted...

~ Dee