...is not my right breast.
I think it is important to clear that up. My right breast is not the newest member of the Hair Club for Men.
You are familiar with the club? The whole, "Oh, I was balding and thus greatly unloved, but then I joined the Hair Club for Men, and now I have a comb-over and all these young ladies in bikinis are swimming in this pool with me and also I have a Ferrari. Not only am I a member of the Hair Club for Men, I'm the president."
But. About righty. People are always getting confused about her status with the Hair Club for Men, because I have a real Hair Club for Men-type situation here. Involving my bosom.
My less-than-ample bosom.
Now I know that right now you are all grabbing for your tissues and getting ready to cry on my poor, pathetic, flat chested behalf. Please do not fret. I am a proud card carrying member of the Tiny Titty Committee, and have been since...well, puberty.
I'm not only a member of the TTC*, I'm the president.
If you're finding this whole comparison to be quite the stretch, you are so totally right...
But anyway, I'm kind of a fan of my little ladies. I mean, it's nothing that Victoria can't help with her Secrets, right? I find them to be cute.
Well. I found them to be cute. Until this morning I noticed that there was complete ANARCHY happening on old righty.
Being the president of the TTC, I realized that pregnancy would not make me into a brunette Pamela Anderson (or, Pamela Anderson without a bottle of peroxide and Hep C). I did not expect to be mistaken for the St. Pauli Girl. And so far, I've been completely correct.
The ladies have grown - in fact, they have long since outgrown their holster. But they really are nothing to write home about, and they are still rather small. However, righty seems to have grown enough to have developed some STRETCH MARKS.
Bah! I am prepared for belly stretch marks, since my mom has described her pregnancy marks in a way that makes me think that some sort of wild beast was trying to claw its way out. (That wild beast would be me. You're welcome, mom.) But boob stretch marks? On just one? What.the.devil?
I suspect the under-the-shirt anarchy will continue, since my belly skin has been feeling like my face after a terrible sunburn: tight and itchy.
I should go buy a Ferrari.
*1,000,000 bonus points for everyone who wondered why I was talking about Trying to Conceive, and had to figure out that I was talking about the Tiny Titty Committee.