Mammary memories (how corny is that for a title)...

I didn't want to print this before...(didn't want to jinx anything)... but now it's done (for now) and I'm relieved and figured I'd put this down.

I have a very interesting relationship with my breasts. I suppose most women do to some extent. Well, that might be a bit presumptuous of me but then again—which woman out there can’t relate to the little girl in “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” You know the little girl who taught us all about waiting for boobs and squeezing our hands tight in front of our chests chanting, “I must, I must, I must increase my bust.” Or wait did I get that from Shirley Feeney on an old episode of Laverne and Shirley? Either way it goes, all I know is by the time I hit fourth grade, I started getting curious about boobs and my lack of them.
Although the curiosity started long before then. I remember sleeping in the room with my uncle when I was six. My uncle was only eight at the time. It was a hot night and he’d slept without a shirt so I figured I’d do the same thing. Well, my grandma came in and calmly explained that I couldn’t sleep topless. When I asked why, she gently told me that little girls have blossoms (hee!) and little boys don’t. Of course I didn’t get it considering his chest and mine looked exactly the same but I took her word for it and felt pretty special putting on my flowered undershirt.
And even though that was a warm fuzzy moment, I was about ready for those blossoms to spring into action by 5th grade. I was tired of undershirts. I was ready to proceed to the big leagues of a training bra. Oh let me qualify that, I was mentally ready. Physically, I was still looking like my eight-year-old uncle. It didn’t help matters that my best friend was already wearing a B-cup, which may not sound like much but to fifth grader, well DUH! She had skipped the blossom stage and went into full bloom!
About this time, my other girlfriends were getting boobs too and we had taken to comparing what we had or didn’t have and then for some reason comparing that to fruit. There were grapes, apples, or in Jackie’s case grapefruits. I did not find it at all amusing to be in the raisin group. My mom was there for me buying me one of those cute little training bras that were really no more than an undershirt cut in half.
Time moved on and I eventually did blossom though not much. I was still part of the itty-bitty titty committee but I was cool with it. I felt like if I got to a B, cool, but if not fine. Then it happened. I went to college and got on the pill. (That’s a whole separate other story.) And one of the wonderful side effects besides the best skin I’ve ever had was a hormonal surge and a fuller brassiere. I finally achieved B cup status. I remember when my breast-obsessed friend Ang noticed this for the first time. Unfortunately we were in a family restaurant when she loudly proclaimed after passing several glances at my side view, “when did your breasts get so big?” Embarrassed as I was I have to admit I was pretty proud of my new found boob-age. I wasn’t Dolly Parton but what I had was good for me.
I could relate any number of boob stories, from the discovery to how much fun boobs could be to my irritation at their soreness every month around the 11th to overcoming my embarrassment at showing a little cleave, but they would probably sound a lot like your stories and I’d be missing the point.
The point is that I have a second mammogram this Wednesday and I’m scared that now that I’ve really begun to enjoy my breasts, there may be a problem with them. To wondering how would I handle it if I had to let one or both go. Of course, my choice is always life…so if they had to go, then so be it. But I’m just wondering if they could put one in a little glass case so I could pull it out and look at it from time to time.