Boobylicious

So, if the black clad women at Victoria's Secret are to be trusted, I am a 36C. This is good to know. Improper support of breasts can lead to bad things and having a bra that is too tight (which most women have) is very bad for you.

When I first became involved with my then boyfriend, now husband, I didn't need to wear a bra. I tight enough shirt did the trick. They were able to defy gravity, they were firm, various tendons and ligaments doing a good job of keeping my boobs where they should be. I was lacking in the cleavage department, but had been told I had 'perfect' breasts by no less than 3 guys. Of course, being an idiot, I had thought they were 'too small' for a while but a good relationship and becoming more comfortable with my body made me realize that my boobs were perfect for me and what was required of them.

As the years of stability went on, I put on a bit of weight and became a bit more filled out. It's as if being in a happy relationship made me hit Puberty Part 2: You Get a Butt. A tight shirt was still pretty much all I needed, though it was considerably tigher. I hated wearing bras and wore them when I had to.

Then: pregnancy. Goodbye normal boobs. Hello utilitarian mammalian protuberances. Bigger, insane, manufacturing things that seemed to have minds of their own. I remember being horrified when my milk came in. I looked like I had implants. It was like something out of science fiction, altogether in line with what I had just undergone the previous nine months and experiencing at the time. Thankfully, over the two years my boobs have been required for nourishment, they have calmed down and gotten smaller. But they are not the handful they used to be. I'm bigger. They're bigger. And they need support.

I should say right off the bat, I hate buying clothes in general. I generally think garments aren't worth what they are being sold for. I also have issues with places that are overly girly. Needless to say, I have to give myself a mental pep talk before I walked into VS today.

The girls talked to me about various things and smiled and gave me their names. I even tried on a...thing. This weird, gel type strapless bra thingy (up to 15 uses! For 68 dollars?!). But in the end, I couldn't bring myself to buy anything, even though I needed it. One, because I actually don't like VS stuff all that much. And it seemed like a lot to spend on something that was basically underwear.

So I still don't have a strapless bra which I need to war for my husband's graduation. I still have my relatively inexpensive sports bras that actually feel good and are comfy and don't have underwires. But I still have boobs.

What the heck am I going to do with them?

Fairness

Life isn't fair. Duh. We all know this.

But when I read that other women are getting to talk to their husbands for an HOUR...well, this saying seems to be laughing in my face.

Life really isn't fair.

BUT...there are women don't have their husbands because they've died. There are women who haven't heard from their husband in months, who have husbands in combat, who have husbands that work in dangerous places, and I'm not just talking Army, folks. There are places in the world where waking up in the morning increases your chance of being killed. Portland, OR isn't one of them.

So...really...I shouldn't complain.

Doesn't mean I'm not still bummed....

T-minus 30

So, my husband is almost all graduated from BCT. The time went both slowly and quickly. Obviously, I didn't pass the time by blogging. I mostly went on AWC, pined, played with baby and dealt with the horrible clusterf*ck that was my inlaws. At least I didn't have to deal with it first hand. I was more of a person who got caught by the edge of the storm, drenched but not battered. It made me realize a few things, mostly that I need to learn how to drive and that I can't trust some people or depend on others. Kind of a lame lesson to learn when your husband is 3,000 miles away, but oh well. It's done, I learned, I am moving away from them.

I'm the kind of person that doesn't value 'sorry.' To me, a sorry is just a word. Action. That is what I want. I want to see the person not do the thing they were sorry for, or at least try to refrain. Some people don't and so when they sorry, they might as well not say anything. I've put some things behind me but the main offender isn't doing anything to make anything easier for anyone else and so all their sorries are dust in the wind.

I know, could I be more vague?

Well, the T-minus 30 is a reference to: the 30-day notice. Yep, I put in my 30 day notice today. Army willing, my daughter and I will be out of this apartment and in Augusta by the 15th of September, the very latest. Most importantly, we'll be closer to my wonderful husband while he's in school. I've received quite a few letters from him, what he's been able to manage, but all the heartfelt words aren't a substitute for the man himself. That's right, my husband is a man, with everything that entails. Naturally, I miss him. I love him and I want to be with him. I want to make him food and go on walks and go grocery shopping with him. I want us to be together. I understand why he had to go to BCT, why they isolate them and condition them and work them. Logically, it makes sense.

Emotionally...well, it's stupid. But the heart is not the brain. That goodness, it would be ill equipped. I'm trying to live with my brain leading the way but occasionally my heart tries to work with the brain and when the brain isn't looking, the heart hijacks me and it's lame. But for the most part, my brain has been taking things in, muddling, ruminating and working things out to make things easier on my poor heart.

Don't worry, heart! You'll have your day in the sun soon enough!