Oh yes, Shakespeare. I like to utilize my Masters in Lit every once in a while. So there you go--a literary title. Is it weird that Shakespeare just pops into my head like that? Don't answer. And the 'FBtF' is because i'm already tired of typing, 'From Boobs to Foobs.' I'm lazy like that.
I've had a totally craptastic time sleeping since last Wednesday--the day of the surgeon visit--the day we found out about "Boob Removal 2012," or "Boobmageddon," as I refer to it in my head. Any time I wake up, I just can't fall back to sleep. And what irritates me about this whole thing, is it's not as if i'm WORRIED, per se, about the surgery...so it's particularly annoying that i can't sleep. I wake up, and immediately think, "BOOBS." And that thought is generally followed by, "I'm hungry. Wait...why am I hungry? I shouldn't be hungry. I want a peanut butter sandwich. Or a steak. BOOBS." It makes no sense. So, I end up sitting at my laptop, working at 5am. Or 3am. Or, if i'm not working, i'm sitting at my laptop with a cup of coffee--thinking about boobs.
It's odd. I'm not really thinking about MY boobs, and no, I don't have visions of boobs dancing in my head like sugarplums (a fitting reference to the season, yes?). It's just a large-scale, boob thinking. To narrow it down even more, it feels like i'm just WAITING for something...which, i am, so i guess that makes sense, but it's extremely annoying.
Since Boobmageddon, i've also felt like doing...well...not a damn thing. I don't want to work, I don't want to go to gymnastics, or cheerleading, or piano practice, or theatre, or get the mail. I want clean my house. I feel like i'm nesting. But really, what the hell am i nesting for? When you're pregnant, it's to get things ready for the new baby. Maybe i'm getting stuff situated for the foobs. Then I can walk into the house and say, "Welcome home, fake boobies! It's all nice, and sparkly and clean for you! Let me show you your room." I should put the "Newborn Nursery" scent in my Scentsy...
And on that note (i'm rambling...see how that happens?), I realized, at some point shortly after Boobmageddon, that I'm not coming home with a full set. I'll be coming home with 'tissue expanders.' Ew. That term is so gross. I prefer to call them "boob builders." I just thought of something else--the surgeon's name is Robert, so certainly, he goes by 'Bob.' So, he's 'Bob the Boob Builder.' I can imagine him, during surgery, asking the nursing staff, "Can we build them?" and they all answer, "YES, we can!!" Anyways...so i'll be coming home with boob builders. And my boobies will be small. And it will take them months to grow. It will be like puberty again. Seriously. I didn't even GET boobs until i was 15, now i have to go through the impatience of getting boobs at 38. That makes me laugh out loud. Perhaps, I should once again read, Are You There, God? It's me, Margaret. "We must, we must, we must increase our bust!"
So...my word of the day: PATIENCE.
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