I have so many things to be thankful for.
One thing I am greatful for are my breasts.
Everytime I feel the need to complain about how my girls droop and sag. Every time I curse out clothes or for one second wish they were smaller . . .
I remember to be thankful.
I remember the women, some in my family who have had to let go of their breasts. Who have found that there are so many other things that define their womanhood.
I remember that the same breasts I’ve sometimes cursed are the same that fed my children for over a year each.
And I remember that if I wasn’t a big-breasted girl I would not be a big-breasted woman with big-breasted readers.