So I am currently obsessed with boobs.

This runs the gamut from what they are supposed to look like to what they are supposed to feel like. I don’t think I will ever know for sure what a “normal” breast feels like, as I am apparently a woman who has the nutty variety.

Yesterday at work I was overcome with the feeling of, “Oh my God this itches, itches, itches!” and tried desperately not to scratch my incision. Up until this morning I had a plastic wrap looking type adhesive over the area to protect the bandage and steri strips. I am not in any pain or real discomfort. But the random itching. Ugh! It’s hit me at the most inconvenient moments, like when standing in line at the grocery or walking into the break room at work.

The girls keep asking to see my boo boo and I am glad to oblige, lifting up my shirt so they can see my bandage and I can assure them that mama is just fine.

“They cut you mommy? They cut it out? I see your boo boo?” Miss A asks, before she moves on to more pressing matters like watching Diego on Nick Jr. asking for chocolate milk, “NOT WHITE MILK MOMMY!” for the bazillionth time.

This all gives new meaning to the expression, “Show us your t*ts!”

p.s. All kidding aside, thank you for the prayers and concern. It is amazing to me how people I don’t really know in real life have offered up prayers for me. I am a big baby, I’ll wholeheartedly admit it, and I will be relieved to hear definitively from the surgeon that I only have fibrocystic disease. I know you’ll be glad to stop reading about my boobs, too, now won’t you?