I used to be pretty...

When I was a teenager and an early twenty-something, I was pretty. I did not really know this. I worked hard physically, so I had a slammin' body...but, alas, I didn't know this either. I had not yet figured out what to do with my hair, and my style was hit and miss, but looking back, I realize that I really was a pretty girl... a pretty girl with a great rack.

This was part of the problem. The whole universe revolved around my rack, to my extreme horror. Guys did not look me in the eye. Ever. So, it really didn't matter if I was pretty or funny or smart. I had an impossible-to-ignore bosom. It defined me. While other girls were trying to acentuate their lacking breasts, I was doing everything in my power to minimize the appearance of mine, to no avail.

Fast forward 15 years. Although not fat, I no longer have a slammin' body. (There are some who disagree with this statement, but it is true according to my frame of reference.) I have given birth. I work a desk job instead of hard manual labor. I still have a freakishly large chest, but I've come to accept it. Hell, I've come to learn to work it. I do not understand what women have against their 30s. It is so liberating to be comfortable in my skin finally. It is beyond expression to have incorporated all of my vast experiences into my body of working knowledge. It is amazing to have confidence, to meet others' smiles with my own instead of dropping my eyes to the floor.

I used to be pretty. Now, I am beautiful...big bust and all.