Breaking up

Dear Vintage Style Beautiful Green Tweed Pumps,


I'm afraid this is good bye. I never intended to part like this, if ever at all but sadly, I suppose all good things must come to an end and seeing as my toes now press uncomfortably against you, this is the end. A sad and tragic parting of what was once a beautiful relationship.


It's not you, it's me. Things change, people change, feet change. Particularly after pregnancy. I was warned but I didn't heed the advice of all those naysayers telling me it wouldn't work, that my feet would probably get bigger and be too much for you to handle. My feet are now bigger than you and I know you don't mean to but you're hurting me, stifling me and crowding my freedom to run and dance. You can't help it, it's just the way you are. So it's over, we're done. I'm so sorry, you just can't stop change. And I've changed but you haven't.

We had 7 good years, the first 4 were really great and you and I went through a lot together: office drama, fundraising dinners, date nights at cute little bistros, so many memories. I will never forget spotting you in that chic little boutique consignment shop in Montrose. Love at first sight. Adorable and vintage, you seduced me with a great price and classic style. I pictured myself the crisp librarian type, coquette and studiously fun. Flirting with you for a while I knew almost instantly you'd be coming home with me. Even though it was obvious that you had a few flaws and would be inflexible to a fault perhaps in your structure, it all just added to your charm. So I brought you home and our love affair began. How I loved you. It became clear over time that we couldn't shop together, that always ended in disaster and dancing was such drama from you that I always made sure to choose a different partner. But we made it work. Compromise was the name of the game, I knew your strengths and weaknesses and you knew mine. Eventually though, specially after baby #4, we just started growing apart. I admit it, I used you only for work, to get something done. If I wanted fun I reached for another pair, never you. I'm sorry, it was just that I couldn't enjoy myself with you like I once could. Flip flops understand casual, sneakers know what I need for support, and strappy sandals totally get being cool and having a good time.


I tried to make it work even when we both had to admit things were awkward and uncomfortable when we were together. Really, I tried. It just didn't work. Then came totally sexy, amazing killer heels and I just stopped trying. I know that is what killed us. But I couldn't help it, they are a full size bigger and were $2 at a yard sale and made my heart go pitter-patter. How can you compete with those curves? That height? The alluring toe cleavage? That bling? Call me a cheap hussy, fine, but I have to be true to myself. I'm in love even if I know they aren't good for me. Today I went out with you for nostalgia's sake but it was then that I realized we really are over. I'm sorry.


You'll get over it, you'll move on, I know you'll be fine. There happens to be an 11 year old I know that I think could be ready for her first real relationship with an amazing pair of shoes. We'll get to see each other once in a while, I hope we can still be friends. You will always hold a special place in my heart.


Sincerely,


Jessica

Aching Love Celebrates

I wrote this poem for a friend as she celebrated and remembered her 4 babies born prematurely. One she holds here and 3 she holds now only in her heart. Grace is the name of the daughter that survived. Recently, 2 more wonderful families I know have gone through pregnancy loss and my heart aches for them as well. I have changed the words some to fit more moms that have experienced pregnancy loss, stillbirths, or premature little ones that did not make it. With this I honor all my friends that have lost children far too early and remember theirs and my own 3 pregnancy losses.

Aching Love Celebrates

by Jessica Martin-Weber

Sweet hope, please stay

This path you trod, do not take

If I could spare you with my fragile breath

I would not hesitate

Mother

Father

Sister

Brother

Love is breathing

Songs to sing

Wishes can not replace

The loves taken wing

Grace is but a gift

One imagines not to hold

But in the eyes of Grace we see

Joy and Grief, elegant and bold

Aching love celebrates

What some pretend is not

Empty womb knows true

Arms missing burdens lost

From her body early denied

In her heart they still survive

Miracle Grow for Boobs

They came out of nowhere. I was in no way expecting them. Just woke up one morning and boom baby! There they were. I had porn star boobs. Like someone sprinkled Miracle Grow on my chest.

I always just assumed I’d breastfeed my babies. The truth is, I never thought about it, never questioned or considered that there could be another option. I knew formula was available and as a frequent babysitter had mixed and given quite a few bottles myself. But it just seemed, well, natural that I would breastfeed. I knew very little about breastfeeding other than “breast is best” and my mom enjoyed nursing my sibs and I and I knew that I would do it myself. I kind of figured that you have a baby and that triggers the faucet and voila! Milk!


So when I got pregnant I had zero idea of the changes that were coming. I understood certain changes related to pregnancy, thought I looked forward to morning sickness (HA!), the glowing skin, knew to expect swollen ankles, odd cravings and a host of other almost cute changes indicative of the growing life within me. What I was unprepared for though, among other things, were the boobs. Upon getting the two lines on the stick I peed on I started imagining myself with a round belly and cute maternity tops, anticipating the attention I’d receive as a woman heavy with child. I thought I couldn’t wait to go shopping for new clothes to accommodate my earth mother figure.

Within a few weeks, however, I had a tummy flatter than a pancake sporting an almost 6 pack thanks to the vomiting sessions and the 10+ pound weight loss. True, I did need new clothes but not because of my growing belly but rather because of the giant melons that now occupied the space on my chest where my little A cup, Hershey Kiss breasts had been. I'm telling you, Miracle Grow. Thinking it would be a while before I couldn’t see my feet, I was shocked to discover that the sore growths on my chest already obstructed the view. The Piano Man only once casually mentioned my increased chest size and then only when I complained about my bras not fitting and he suggested I go shopping, acknowledging that maybe they were a little bigger. Together we marveled at the candy stripped appearance of my boobs as bright red stretch marks streaked the once smooth, even skin. I worried he’d think me less attractive, what with my constant puke breath and neon sign striped boobs but he assured me I was still beautiful, greasy hair, puke breath and red magic marker streaked breasts and all. Smart man. Thinking he and I were the only ones that noticed my newly acquired body parts I tried not to let them bother me and go about my business, puking and pretending I didn’t have breasts nearly hitting my chin and keeping my arms from resting flat against my sides. But we weren’t the only ones aware, oh no, not at all. The 6 year old boy I babysat noticed and he finally couldn’t help himself, he asked me where those things on my chest came from. He totally did say “those things.” Scarlet, head to toe. I could feel my cheeks burning. They were still burning minutes later when, not getting anything but a blushing response from me, he took off to go play. But I caught him, more than once, staring at them. Seriously though, I was weighing in at 93 pounds with D cups, how could he not? I couldn't help but stare at them myself sometimes and I legitimately did worry they were going to cause me to topple over.


When we finally started telling people we were expecting most of them told us they already figured it out, between the puking and all. The “and all” meant my newly found rack. Ok, fine, pretend you don't notice them, we can just ignore the elephant tits in the room. Only one other person said anything: our gay best friend. I knew it was bad then. I really was just a pair of pasties away from looking like a stripper. My cup over-floweth had a totally new meaning to me, an uncomfortable, awkward, knockers meaning. I couldn’t wait for my belly to at least catch up with my bosom. My very ample bosom. The belly did catch up, finally, very near then end and I was relieved. There was a nice little shelf between my breasts and my belly and I was finally earth mother. I loved my curves, they were beautiful.

Then Earth Baby was born. Watermelons. Watermelons that shot milk when I sneezed, Earth Baby cried, I made chocolate milk (from cows), slept, had sex, thought about having sex, thought about Earth Baby or went out in public. Porn star cow boobs in nursing bras. And I still couldn’t see my feet. Miracle Grow for boobs, it must have been a whole bottle of the stuff.