Okay, so let me get this right.

I decide I want to live out my dream of becoming a mother.

I lovingly nurture and grow a real, live, living being inside of my body for 40 weeks of my life.

I retain something the size of a basketball in my stomach while an actual person grows, takes all of my nutrients, and makes it so I can only sleep on one side of my body.

Then I go through the absolutely exhausting process of birthing this basketball. In the meantime, my breasts grow into the most gorgeous, full, perky, luscious womanly parts I’ve ever seen.

And then it begins: I nurse and I nurse and I nurse. And I become nothing but a milkmaid to this self-absorbed little meatball who lovingly gazes up at me while suckling away with a sweet, cunning smile.

And then, as quickly as it started, the long days and nights of nursing are over. And you forget. You forget how hard it was and how you didn’t sleep one solid night for what seemed like a lifetime.

And so you get the bright idea that maybe it would be good to grow another little being in your body. So you do.

And then you remember just how bloody hard it was.

This time is different. This time you get mastitis, and blebs, and blocked ducts, and all kinds of weird shit. But you persist and carry on with a strong sense of determination, knowing how important it is to breastfeed your little bundle of joy for as long as you can to give them the best possible start in life—especially since being born via Caesarean.

You put cabbage on your swollen breasts and disinfect pins to try to pop the blebs, and you massage them under hot water, and rub all kinds of crap on them, and take fenugreek and milk thistle and god knows what else to just make it all stop and go back to normal.

And then it does; it stops. Life goes back to normal—somewhat.

Somewhat, because something happens. I don’t quite remember exactly when it happens, but somewhere between the sleepless nights and the endless days, it happens:

They disappear.

Your boobs—the best boobs you’ll ever have in your entire life—they vanish into thin air, almost as though it never happened.

Where did they go? It’s not even like I just got my old boobs back and went on about my business. It’s like someone came in with a shop vac and just sucked the life right out of them.

So I ask you, is this fair? If there were a higher power, don’t you think that after everything we women go through it would only be fair that we get to keep the best damn boobs ever? That somehow, someway, we should be rewarded with at least that?

I get that the kids are cute and it’s an endless stream of love and affection, but it just doesn’t seem right. I mean, come on! At least give me back what I started with and call it even.

So, to all the ladies out there feeling a little deflated and weathered by the storm, I stand with you in solidarity. Never forget, your body, nourished life, and you are one beautiful badass mama!