Jo (an alias) starts off our Guest Post series.
Maybe I wasn’t mature enough to know yet. Perhaps my mom didn’t want me to know the fate to which I was doomed. It’s also possible she was just too embarrassed to tell me the truth.
At 19 years old, I now know.
My mom’s filled-out chest area was a fabrication. Implants. Does it make me love her less, knowing that part of her is fake? Hell no. I mean, at first it was just funny. Life suddenly made so much sense! The fact that my sister practically has no chest, and I got barely a little bit more. The fact that my mom was ONLY curvy in the bosom and nowhere else. The fact that she filled out those Vicky Secret push-up bikini tops (and then some) while her genetically related daughters inherited none of that wealth.
And then when I was done laughing my ass off, I asked her, WHY? My mother is not a vain woman. Her number one priority is her children and their happiness. She’s a doctor for heaven’s sake. Her job requires her to put others’ lives before her own. She’s also beautiful in her own right: deep chocolate eyes, lean muscle, and a big ol’ warm smile that accompanies her raucous laugh. She’s a tower of strength – my role model. So why in the hell would she get implants?
She told my why, triggering another round of gigglish snickers. “It was right after I had you.” She was emaciated from late nights working at the hospital, running herself down. “I was so skinny, people thought I was a cancer victim.” That is quite a valid reason. I will accept that.
There’s this story in my family that gets told at least once a year. My sister – shy and sweet as a little girl – came to a conclusion. Her Aunt Karla was busty and beautiful. Her Mommy was slim but also beautiful. The cogwheels in her pretty head started to spin, thinking of her genetics and her inheritance. “Mommy, when I grow up, am I going to have boobs like Aunt Karla or like you?”
So, I guess that was the tipping point for my mom.
What do I take away from this discovery? Fuck the opinions of other people. My mom was beautiful before and after “the change”. I wish I were old enough at the time to tell her, “I love you just the way you are. Fuck the rest of the world.” And where the hell was her husband? Why wasn’t he there to tell her that he loved her just the way she was?
Pretty isn’t everything, right? *
*Song: West Coast by The Neighbourhood