'Me and Mum hate our small saggy breasts!'
11 June 2008Huffing and puffing, I rifled through the endless tops nestled through the tops within my wardrobe. It was Friday night, and I was meeting the girls in town. But I couldn't find anything to wear. ‘They all looked horrendous,' I though, becoming more frustrated with each one I tried on.They fitted snugly around my size-12 waist, but I starred in disgust at my ugly, deflated breasts I stuffed the low-cut tops back in my wardrobe, and settled for a loose, high-neck black top instead. ‘Great,' I thought sarcastically, looking at my drab reflection. Once downstairs, I sat on my sofa while I waited for my taxi. Dwindling assets ‘You look nice,' my Mum, Shorna said, barely taking her eyes off the TV. She was babysitting for me. ‘I look rubbish,' I sighed, starring down at my pathetic, saggy boobs. Since having my daughter, Tayla, nine months before, my cute 36Bs had dwindled to an invisible A. I'd split with Tayla's dad shortly after she was born. I was only 20, but hated my post-baby body. And although I loved being a mum, I longed to meet a nice guy. But with a body like mine, I was convinced no bloke would ever look twice at me. I was back living with Mum, and she would baby-sit every Friday for me, so I could go out. But my old, tight, low-cut tops now looked odd on my flat chest. I wanted to feel like a sexy young women - not a shrivelled up old gran. My big idea One night, I was flicking through a magazine, sighing at all the curves on display. ‘Mum, why don't we get our boobs done?' I suggested. Mum had a size-eight figure, and looked younger than 43. But she, too, was only an A-cup, and had joked for years about having a boob job. She burst out laughing, ‘don't be daft,' she said. But because she'd been harping on for so long about having surgery, I thought I'd finally call her bluff. ‘I'm serious,' I said. And I didn't want to go under the knife myself. ‘We can get it done together,' I suggested, as I left to catch my cab. Mum looked shocked, but I knew deep down, she wanted big boobs, too. That weekend, as soon as Tayla was in bed, I went on the Internet. I typed in boob jobs, and a long list of websites instantly appeared on the screen. ‘Brilliant,' I though happily. The next morning, after dropping of Tayla at nursery, Mum and I drove to work. We both had jobs at London's Heathrow Airport. Mum was a project manager for the new terminal and I was her administrative assistant. Once we'd settled into the office, I decided to share my news. ‘I've arranged for us to have a consultation,' I announced. She put down the report she was reading. ‘What?' she asked. I was determined to convince her. ‘For our boob jobs,' I continued. A few work men had come indoors and were loitering around the office. Their jaws hit the ground when they heard what we were discussing. ‘Good for you Shona,' one of them teased. Mum blushed. ‘You're serious, aren't you?' she said to me. I grinned. ‘Oh, yes,' I said. Curvy cups Soon, Mum and I were waiting in a smart office in London's Harley Medical Clinic. ‘I can't believe were doing this,' she whispered to me, as the surgeon introduced himself. After the examination, he told us about the different implant sizes available to us. ‘How big do you want to be?' he asked. I didn't hesitate. ‘I'd love to go up to DD,' I told him. He advised Mum to opt for a C, but she wanted her boobs to be even bigger. ‘If im spending all this money, I want to see the difference,' she giggled. The surgeon nodded his head in agreement. ‘Talking of money...' I said. ‘How much will the ops cost?' The surgeon worked it out. ‘About £3,900 each,' he said. I applied for a loan and Mum was using her savings so we could both afford the surgery. Pangs of guilt But it was a huge amount of money, and I felt guilty I wasn't spending it on Tayla. It would be worth it, though, because Tayla needed a happy mum. I was buzzing with excitement all the way home but Mum was unusually quiet. ‘Are you OK?' I asked, as we pulled up outside our house. She sighed, ‘I'm not sure I can go through with it,' she said. ‘I'm sorry.' I didn't want to go ahead without Mum - we planned this together. Surely I wouldn't have to cancel.Now our big boobs are our BREAST friends!Linzi went under the knife to get her breasts boosted, and took her mum along with her... ‘Please', I screeched, tugging at Mum's arm. I couldn't believe she'd got cold feet about having a boob job. ‘I'm not sure if I can do it,' she admitted. ‘I'm scared.' I gave her a big hug, ‘Don't worry, Mum. It'll be fine,' I promised. I piled on the guilt trip. ‘I'll cancel mine, then,' I sulked. ‘I won't do it alone.' She turned to me. ‘OK, OK,' she agreed. I screamed, excited. And before we had time to worry, the day of our ops arrived. My Dad was going to look after Tayla for me. When I heard a horn beep outside, I gave her a big kiss. The car from the clinic was waiting to collect us. As soon as we arrived at the Highgate Hospital in North London, we unpacked our overnight bags in our adjoining rooms. Under the knife ‘How attractive,' Mum sniggered, as we slipped into our blue gowns. Once the surgeon had covered our breasts in black marker pen, a nurse came in to take us to theatre. ‘Are you ready, Mrs Askew?' she asked, starring straight at Mum. Mum looked panic-stricken as she walked away with the nurse. ‘Soon you will see,' I smiled. ‘It'll be worth it.' I sat at the end of the bed, anxiously watching the clock. I was itching to have my op. Less than an hour later Mum was wheeled back from theatre. ‘It's your turn now,' the nurse said. I jumped eagerly off the bed. ‘OK, but can you hang on a minute?' I asked, darting into Mum's room. She was still drowsy from the anaesthetic as I lifted her bedding to take a sneaky look at her new boobs. ‘Wow!' I though. Even under all the bandages, I could make out Mum's fuller shape. ‘Get me under the knife now,' I giggled to the nurse. The surgeon worked on me for 30 minutes just as he'd done with Mum. He made an incision under both my breasts before placing the implants beneath the muscle. I was in and out of consciousness for a few hours, before I finally came round. Mum was sitting up opposite me. ‘Hi,' I said, smiling. Surprisingly, I wasn't in pain. I was dying to see my new boobs but the bandages meant I couldn't. The next morning, Dad came to collect us. ‘Carefully,' I called from the backseat as a pain shot through my chest. Every bump was agony. Back home, Mum and I took it easy for a fortnight. Then we went back to work. Mum blushed as the blokes on site wolf-whistled at her. ‘I've never had that reaction before,' she laughed. Admiring glances The following weekend, Mum and I threw away our unflattering sports bras and hit the shops. Mum picked out some sexy lingerie, and I found a top that would show off my new cleavage. That Friday night I got ready to meet the girls. ‘Perfect,' I thought, admiring my DD cleavage. As I danced the night away, it felt good knowing men were eyeing up my boobs, I felt sexy again. My confidence had soared since my boob job and Mum says her love life has improved. But there are some things a daughter really doesn't want to hear! Now Mum looks too young to be a granny and I'm happy being a yummy mummy. Linzi Askew, 20, West London
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