Why my Mother is NOT my best friend..

This is not an angry post, in fact quite the opposite. My whole life my mother has told me that she is not my friend. Ouch, right? Wrong. I'm no longer envious of parent/child relationships that label themselves as "best friends". My mother is not my best friend. I have a best friend. She has a best friend. In fact, we've probably been through several, if not dozens of, "best friends" throughout our lives.  My mom is irreplaceable and more than my best friend. Out of respect for her and the boundaries we have I will never call her that. My mom is my protector, my investor, my counsel, teacher, inspiration and cheerleader. I combine all of those things and call her "mom" and I don't call anyone else her title. There is nothing I have ever needed that she hasn't provided me and she has dedicated so much of her life to not only keeping me alive, but pushing me to be an independent, driven and capable human being. 

On top of making my brother and I functioning adults, I cannot begin to tell you the lengths that she has gone to to provide happiness. The home I grew up in is stuffed to the brim with games and puzzles and musicals and Disney movies and they never just sat there. Our kitchen is not just the place where my mother makes her famous salsa, but also the place where we show off our best dance moves and "cheers" every success that my family achieves. It is a house filled with love and giggles and hugs and kisses because of her. 

I see it like this, if she's mean or lets me down, or more likely I do something to disappoint her, it's not like I can just go out and find a replacement. There is no one (except my dad) who has been with me since minute 1, worked 40+ hours a week to provide a life for me, answered the phone at any hour I need her.. this list goes on and on. A friend doesn't carry an agenda into your relationship. My mother's job is to be constantly trying to teach me things and help me grow as a person. At no time should a best friend be worried that you need to learn your multiplication tables. A best friend doesn't stay up at night worried about your safety or your grades, 
but she did. 

At multiple points, we've both wanted to run away. My mother had a strange obsession with driving to New Mexico in a Miata and waiting tables. I think when times got hard, and trust me I didn't make it easy, it may have been fun to think about if she had made different choices. She dreamt about sunshine when it was probably pouring down rain in Oregon and a quiet childless life, when the dishes were piled up and I was refusing to eat dinner. The reality is that parents leave their children every day and some stay and choose to harm their kids instead of help them. Good parents are so very underrated. 

The most we've gone is a couple weeks without speaking, but we always talked it out and forgave because there was never another option. There is no circumstance where she is not my mom and I am not her daughter and that makes our relationship unconditional, consistent and lifelong and just so inherently better than a best friend.

Of all the endless things that my mother does for me, the greatest of these things is loving my dad. It didn't take a village to raise me, it took two people who truly love each other. Individually they are role models, but being an extremely bias product of their relationship, I can honestly say it is the strongest relationship I've ever witnessed. They rely on each other, trust each other and when shit hits the fan, they stay and work it out. Their 30+ year commitment to each other is the cornerstone of my family and been the strongest example of what love really is for me. 

Every year on my birthday, my mother sits me down and tells my birth story. Its so so cheesy and very personal for me. Long story short, there is a seven year difference between my brother and me. My parents didn't think they would have another baby, but when their Goddaughter was born my mom and dad decided they needed a little girl of their own. (Thanks Bre!) The most important thing she always says in the story is that I was wanted. I was prayed for and wished for and prepared for. Our family was complete when I came into the world. She also commentates on how she was relieved when she found out that I could be layered in pink and that she would have a shopping buddy for life (this was before the "gender reveal days") and dad went straight to protector mode and kept asking about the color of my under oxygenated skin. 

The moral of my story is that I am incredibly blessed to have been made and raised by them.

So, yes, my mother is a wonderful human being. She is beautiful and extraordinary. I truly enjoy spending time with her. Since we share DNA, it stands to reason that we have quite a bit in common. She is brilliant and my definition of class. I trust her taste of books, movies, fashion, and pretty much everything. She has given me more than I could ever repay. She is my go-to. She is my problem solver. 

She is not my best friend. 

She is my mom. 

Mom and I sang this one on the way to elementary school.

I love you mom. -that one girl

Tits McGee

It's recently come to my attention again that I have a chance to advocate for women in my life so here we go. This is going to get personal. 

I've decided to use as many slang words for breasts as I can-- just to jazz it up a bit.

This September will be 4 years since I had my breast reduction. I went from a 32G to a 32D. I told a conservative doctor to be conservative, so yes I am still pretty big by people's standards, but I am pleased with my results overall and the first thing I tell people is that it is the best decision I've ever made for myself. In hindsight, I think it was a pretty big decision to make for a girl who just turned 21 and there were so many doubts that I had at the time. 

I struggled with the fact that I was choosing to alter who God made me. I always felt like they were there for a reason or to teach me a lesson and I didn't know when I would be done learning. I find comfort now in the fact that choosing to have plastic surgery taught me so much about how to advocate for my own health and how differently people are treated based on their weight (or even where that weight is stored). It baffles me that the precise removal of 3lbs really impacted my life the way it has. 

I also battled the feeling that I was losing a part of my identity. My breasts were a family trait. It is a physical characteristic that at least the past 3 generations of my family has dealt with (my poor future daughter) and even though I desperately wanted to be flat chested, that wasn't how my family looked. But more than that, it was how people described me and even what they called me. High school was a sonofabitch with those things. I remember my boyfriend sophomore year telling me that when he told his friend that he was dating "Katie Parker" the friend stuck out his outstretched hands a foot in front of his own chest and then twirled his fingers around his head to describe my curly hair and asked "that Katie Parker?" and then another boy I really liked decided to call me "Tits McGee" for 3 years. What a sick and twisted world I lived in that I thought it was a pet name. I was constantly struggling between wanting to "flaunt what my mama gave me" and constantly covering up and smothering them. 

A very private moment with my bestie in our apartment. Truth is it didn't matter what we wore or if we brought attention to them. People were aware of our fantastic cleavage. Men were intrigued. Women were silently jealous of something we never chose for ourselves. 

I qualified for surgery based on just how large they were and lying out my ass about back pain. I was uncomfortable some days and I believe that most women huge knockers will be in more pain than the average woman. For me personally, the emotional pain was a lot more severe than the actual pain I experienced both before and post surgery. My truth is I thought surgery would fix everything. I think it is very similar to how overweight people might think that Gastric Bypass is going to solve all their problems. I thought I would become this marathon runner and find a man who genuinely loved me for me and my clothes would fit awesome and my self esteem would soar through the clouds. Blah, Blah, Blah. 

R E A L  T A L K :

I came up from anesthesia hysterically crying that I was never going to find a husband without my sweater monsters. I completely blacked out for the next 4 days and recently found out I treated my mother (the best caretaker in the world) like shit during those days. I couldn't wear a real bra for 6 weeks. I had to sleep on my back and keep my elbows locked to my waist for the same time. I have more scars than you probably imagine and they were purple for the better part of 3 years. I have actually talked heavy-chested women out of getting the surgery with my scars. 

I guess Aidan and several others visited me in the hospital, but I have no recollection of talking to anyone or taking these pictures. WEIRD.

When I gain weight- guess where it goes?! The first time I got a treadmill was amazing and I literally remember jumping in-between each pace, just because it felt so gosh darn good. However, after those first few bouncy jogs, it just was jogging. It still sucked. Although I am a lot more comfortable running, that doesn't mean I'm going to be motivated by my slightly smaller "meat puppets". Even the guy who loves me for who I am wishes he could have seen "the real me" and I can't blame him for that because I beg him almost every day to just let his beard grow and grow! I guess I'm into the natural look too.  Almost every time I told a guy I had a breast reduction he asked me "Why I slapped God in the face?" and most women if they can't relate ask if I could just pump my excess breast tissue into them. 

People ask me for my fat ALL THE TIME and I use to think it was repulsive. 

It took me a    l   o   n   g    time to understand why women wanted bigger tits. I couldn't comprehend why women would wear push-up or even padded bras. I spent almost 10 years wanting to look like every one else and shuck and disguise what other people were mimicking. It wasn't until I spent some time trying to talk one of the most attractive women I know out of her boob job, that I finally understood that if I was entitled to go to extraordinary measures to be happy with my fun bags than she was too. 

For the record: She looks fucking fantastic and I can't and won't stop staring at her perfect chesticals. 

 Even though we had exactly the opposite course of treatment I think we both knew what would be best for us. I don't think it's a problem of wanting what the other had or that "the grass is always greener on the other side". It's so much bigger than that. 

Bre and I and our perfect boobs.

If you or anyone you might know, is thinking about changing their milk factories, please send them my way. I've coached a few girls through their own procedures now and I think it's important to ask the personal questions before scheduling anything. Trust me, once you request a referral- it all moves pretty quick from there. 

enjoy your own milkshakes- that one girl (with the big boobs)