It was Amy’s birthday weekend. She had just turned 40. I was already a year ahead of her.

We’re typical millennial moms. We both look younger than our age, great skin, glowing hair. We were getting ready for her party at my house. We’re childhood friends and, as usual, had no problem changing in front of each other. Amy is tall and thin. Despite three children, she always bounced back to be skinny and toned. I’m not as lucky. I have a pooch. My breasts have always been saggy and have gone downhill since. That’s an area we have in common. Amy had small, perky tits before the kids, and they’d deflated to almost no breast tissue since.

I caught an updated peek as she slipped on her sundress and had me tie it for her. We were going out for a stereotypical girls’ night in Savannah, a two-hour drive. We packed up the bathroom, putting away the flat irons and makeup, headed downstairs, and said goodbye to my husband, who was staying home to watch both sets of kids.

Ryan, also a typical... continue reading