“Can you milk me, Focker?”

Summer is officially over.  It’s taken us a few weeks to wrap our heads around this change in seasons.  Fall to winter, winter to spring, spring to summer, those three all seem so easy in comparison.  Getting our family into our school year routine has been like engineering a machine with interlocking gears that all have to fit together just right in order to run smoothly.  The big girl is in school five half-days a week; she has three after school activities.  The little girl is in school three half-days with two other activities.  Naptimes, bathtimes, bedtimes, I took on a small part time job, and my husband is studying to go to grad school.  As September nears its end, we have finally started to see our little machine run with fewer jerks and grinds.  We’re enjoying fall with its cool crisp air, apple orchards, and pumpkin patches.  So now it’s time to throw a wrench in our family’s fall machine.  Surgery #3.

I’m a week away from what I had expected would be new nipples and the thighs I’ve always dreamed of (but never wanted to work for).  I have thought long and hard about this and have decided that I’m not going to get new nipples.  But you can bet your ass that I’m getting the lipo and fat transfer!  (Don’t bet on my ass, because half of it will be in my boobs in about a week).

I have weighed all of the options: nipples, no nipples, 3D tattooed nipples.

I will never breastfeed a child again.  Biologically, it can’t happen since all of my milk ducts were removed along with the breast tissue from my double mastectomy.  So by the Focker Theory of Transitive Properties (hi, math nerds, welcome!), if “you can milk anything with a teet” and I have no milk ducts, then I shouldn’t have “teets.”

I also hated that feeling when my old nipples would pop out to say hello when it was cold out.  I always felt that it brought me unnecessary attention at the wrong moments, perhaps even misinterpreted by some.  I can’t even imagine that being a permanent problem.  Ugh, the sheer thought gives me the heebie jeebies (I just instinctively looked down to see if my nipples popped out.  That’s called Phantom Nipple Syndrome.)

I’m loving the freedom of wearing shirts without a bra.  This is a luxury I have never had before.  If I had new nipples, I’d feel it necessary to wear a bra with padded lining all of the time to hide them, which would kind of defeat some of this whole ordeal’s silver lining.  And what’s worse than high beaming all of the time?  Displaying an areola tattoo in anything white or light colored.  No thanks.

The last part of the decision fell to my husband.  “Do you miss nipples?” I asked him.  He (almost too quickly) said no.  I knew he was aware that I didn’t really want to get new ones, so I thought maybe he was just being supportive.  So I gave him a week or so to mull it over before I asked him again.  “Do you want me to get new nipples?”  “Nope” was his answer.  I still think he’s thinking more about my desires than his own in this instance, but I appreciate his support.  I also figure this isn’t my final opportunity.  If I get nipples now, it would be a bit difficult to get them removed later.  However, if I don’t get nipples now, I can always add them at some point in the future.

Although I won’t be getting nipples during surgery next week, my perfectionist plastic surgeon (the best kind, in my opinion) is going to revise my scar.  This will also give me a little lift (thanks, doc).  If I had had this procedure as previously scheduled in June, I probably wouldn’t have given it the thought that this decision deserved.  But every time the fall wind blows, I know I’ve made the right decision for me.

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