Am I turning into a 17 year old boy?

August 26th — First, Happy 42nd Birthday Greg! Second, I fear I am turning into a 17 year old boy. I look at breasts all the time! Because I get brand new breasts soon, I look at different sizes, various shapes, how women’s breasts look under clothes, in bathing suits. It’s like shopping for a new car. You never see the Highlander Hybrids on the road until you’re in the market and suddenly there are Highlanders everywhere. They park next to you at the grocery store, pull up behind you at red lights, and pass you on the freeway. It’s the same way with breasts, although I have an even better chance to see breasts than car models because boobs are all around. Being a mom, opportunity abounds to see a wide variety of boobs on a daily basis anyway — women with babies nurse around me, I go into women’s changing rooms where women undress, and I have friends who are kind enough to let me see and feel their breasts. What, women go around feeling each other’s breasts? No, but since my diagnosis of breast cancer, not only have I been felt up by more people than ever before in my prior 43 years but I have had the opportunity to feel other women’s breasts, which I had never done before. It seems crazy but it’s actually been quite helpful as I try to decide on the exact size I’d like to be once my expanders have been removed and the gummy bear silicon gel implants are in place. I have also discovered which of my friends have had augmentation. Many of my friends have killer bustlines (not as dangerous as mine were, however, ha ha), but I had no idea that several of them had been artificially enhanced. One especially generous and kind friend let me see and feel her breasts and discussed various details such as cc’s and bra sizes. She looks fabulous by the way, so while I’ve never been a fan of the augmented look, the new gummy bear silicon gel implants are so wonderful, I now recommend them to anyone wanting a perkier decolletage. After much shopping around my various friends’ cleavage and bras, I decided to upgrade a size or so. Of course, I had to let my plastic surgeon decide if my body could handle 2 more ounces on each side. Dr. H was more than happy to increase my bustline and joked that a few more ounces was not going to change my career as I always told him I didn’t want “stripper boobs.” So, Happy Birthday Greg. Two more ounces. Consider this the birthday gift that keeps on giving.