So back to Christmas. This year our family has decided to cut back on all the Christmas chaos by reducing the amount of presents we give and receive. We've decided the adults get to pull one name from a hat and that's the one person (besides the kids & spouse) that we'll buy for. Given the distance between us, this not only makes good economical sense, but logistically it works really well too because there's nothing worse than spending $120 to mail a $60 gift. You know what I mean? So, this week my niece put our assorted names into a hat and did a virtual draw and now the real work begins; which is figuring out what to get my lucky recipient!
Now, I've been making up Christmas lists for years - all the better to ensure I don't get a stocking full of coal, but mostly to ensure that hopefully, if people are careful readers I won't get duplicates of anything AND I'll be guaranteed to get at least one or two things that I'd really like to receive. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck people...I like to make giving me a present easy on the people doing the buying.
When I was 13 my Christmas list looked something like this: new figure skates, a polaroid camera, some books and even materials to make a craft or two. But the really big item on my Christmas list that year was a chest. Not a wooden chest. Not a jewelry chest. Not even a hope chest. Nope. The chest I was looking for would sit about 6 inches below my collar and 6 inches above my navel. That's right, I asked Santa Claus for some boobs.
It's true!
I come from a long line of let's just say, less then endowed women. I thought if there was a Santa Claus and if I asked really nice, I'd be gifted with something other than the 30AA training bra I had been sporting for a couple of years.
Well, let's just say Christmas 1975 was a bit of a disappointment. Oh, I got my shiny new, white figure skates and while I didn't get the polaroid camera, I got lots of other things I wanted. It was a white Christmas and everything was just perfect. Except. Well except for one thing. It was the year that it was confirmed for real. There was no such thing as the Man with the Jingle, 'cause, that's right - I woke up Christmas morning completely boobless...just like I was on Christmas Eve.
I would remain boobless until my mid-twenties.
But, better late then never, suddenly, long about the age of 25 or 26, I started to get some shape north of my navel and south of my neck. No padded bra for me anymore...suddenly, I had a rack! This is the part where we're not going to focus on the fact that along with my ample bosom, I also gained a significant real estate on my ass, but whatever, boobs are boobs and I don't care how you go about getting them. I had them, and I planned on keeping them.
So, stay with me here people, I will eventually get to the point.
About 9 weeks ago I embarked on a serious quest called No Crap for Kim - The Redux, Return of the Apocalypse or better known as "I really mean it this time I have to lose some freaking weight!" Campaign. Nine weeks ago I was 15 lbs heavier than I am today. Nine weeks ago I was several inches bigger than I am today. Nine weeks ago I still had a rack. Today? Not so much.
Aside from working out 6 days a week and measuring & counting everything I put in my mouth, the rest of the plan is to weigh-in once a week and then once a month I take my measurements. I took mine today and while I am ecstatic at the pounds and inches I've lost, I am less then happy about where I'm losing them. I've lost a total of 7 inches from various points around my body. THREE of those inches I've lost from my boobs.
The lesson here? Now we know that aside from there not being a Santa Claus? We also know that Mother Nature is also a total bitch!
