<p>They were firm once; small and ripe like apricots.&#0160; I always wanted them to be bigger, just a little bigger, but tried to comfort myself with the belief that they were definitely cute.&#0160; Sure, I looked at other women who had larger, sexier ones and was sometimes jealous.&#0160; I wondered what it was like to have “womanly” ones.&#0160; But at least mine were perky and youthful and I never really worried about the way they looked.</p>

<p>The first thing I noticed when I got pregnant is that they changed.&#0160; They became swollen and bruised, like overripe fruit.&#0160; But...how they filled my sweaters!&#0160; Puberty had finally arrived!</p>

<p>Once my son was born, they became the source of interminable pain.&#0160; Raw and bleeding, and then filled to the point where I thought they would explode - that the skin was going to burst - and the pain, so sharp! I hated them.&#0160; I was their slave, and they were a sadistic master.</p>

<p>Once we got the feeding thing down, they became useful for the first time in my life.&#0160; They gave me the power to nurture and sustain life.&#0160; I was in touch with their rhythms and they became my partners in the business of keeping The Boy alive.&#0160; I didn’t let The Husband touch for fear they might leak.&#0160; But I loved the feeling they gave me - a feeling of power and being full of life.</p>

<p>As nursing wound down, I felt less maternal about them and more sensual.&#0160; They were full, yes, but now that The Boy was more independent they were also fun again!&#0160; Not too big, not too small - with maybe a stretch mark here or there - they were more perfect than I ever thought possible.</p>

<p>But as soon as we stopped nursing, they became sad.&#0160; They sat, flaccid, limp, like empty balloons.&#0160; They merely hung, empty sacs of flesh, suddenly useless.&#0160; I panicked...where <em>did</em> they go?&#0160; The strange thing was, now that they were barely more than skin I was more aware of them than ever before.&#0160; They hung heavy and limp against me and weighed a ton.</p>

<p>It took a few weeks (maybe the hormones needed time to sort things out?) but now they’ve settled in and I love them.&#0160; Oh, they’re not the firm apricots of my youth,&#0160; but they aren’t the sad old-lady sacks of a few weeks ago either.&#0160; They’re a nice size but nowhere near generous.&#0160; They’re softer.&#0160; Now their curve isn’t as obvious as before, more pear than apricot.&#0160; And while they aren’t youthful - they hang a little lower, the shape is not as round, the skin is not as smooth - they’re womanly at last.&#0160; They are sensual, in more ways than I ever thought would be possible.&#0160; For they have earned it.&#0160; </p>
