Breaking the News that I have fake boobs…
A few months ago my kids and I were flipping through the channels when we came across the Housewives of, insert any county. I couldn’t help myself… I had to stop and watch for a minute when I found myself having this conversation:
14 yr old son; “Mom, I’m so glad you don’t have all this plastic surgery”
12 yr old daughter; “yah! it looks so weirrrd.”
(me in my head; is this when I tell them?)
me out loud; ‘Some of it’s sooo crazy, right? Not all of it… but some of it.’
and that was that. Or so I thought!
I have fake breasts. If you’re reading this and you are a customer of Teddies for Bettys, there is a slight chance you already know that. The reality is, I spend 97% of my day talking about boobs. Your boobs, my boobs, her boobs, other boobs. (Don’t worry, names not included!) The reality is, we are not just getting your bra size in the dressing room, we are listening to you, your life experiences and mutually sharing.
However, I’ve never shared my story with my kids. It never occurred to me to talk to them about the fact that I had breast implant surgery a year after my youngest was born. At the time, and honestly for most of the past decade, it didn’t seem necessary, until now.
For personal reasons I’ve decided to have my breasts re-done. I’ve literally been thinking about it for 2 years and after much going back and forth, have decided it is what is right for me. Part of the decision making process included telling my kids and preparing them for it. Which, for me, meant being honest about the fact that I have fake boobs. My reason for telling them was the reason I hadn’t told them. I didn’t want to influence my daughter to think she needed to change her body. I wanted her to grow up and learn to accept what she has been given. I’ll say it- blessed with. (hypocritical, I know, but we always want our kids to be better than us, no?)
Why did I feel it was so important she not only know, but understand why I had implants?
Because she wants my boobs.
My fake boobs.
She asks questions all the time; when did you get your breast? what size were you? will I look like you? will I have your boobs? do mine look like yours?
This is where I started to crack. Not because I felt like I was lying to my child, because I certainly believe that there are circumstances and experiences that my kids don’t need to know about me personally, but this, this is something that my daughter believes she is inheriting. Something that, I’ll say it, may be more perfect than my natural genes will give her.
So, I asked my son and daughter to sit with me so I could tell them that I would be undergoing surgery, what the surgery was, and why.
They were both shocked. Big eyed, glancing down at my chest then back up to my eyes.
When? How? Implants? Inside? What do they look like?
And then Faith, with tears in her eyes, ‘why didn’t you ever tell me?’ I tried to explain to her that she and Nick were so young when I chose to do it that telling them would have made zero difference. But now, I said, you are older and can understand why I’m making the choice.
The conversation started to get really emotional and I didn’t know what to say anymore except;
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s like Santa. He’s not real… and neither are my boobs!’
Silence.
Shock.
Then major laughter.
Not to my surprise, Faith wanted to know more about me physically before my implants. She admitted that she was sad that I hadn’t told her, but also she didn’t know what it meant for her. That she’d looked at my body as something that she would one day have. I assured her that her body would develop the way it’s suppose to and she will be beautiful. I also told her I felt like she loved me for the boobs she thought she was getting and not my beaming personality… 😉
