If I told you I’d never once looked at myself in the mirror and thought about getting new boobs, I’d be lying. Still, that didn’t stop my mind from running a racket when one of my girlfriends went under the knife.

I was having a video-catchup up with a good friend the other day. Instagram shots aside, we haven’t seen one another in about eight months, but what I have seen of her on social media prompted me to ask this question:

“So, did you get new boobs?”

She sure did, and she admitted it with pride. That’s what I love about Jane. She does what she does for herself and nobody else. I never thought I’d say this about someone who’d opted for cosmetic surgery, but the girl’s inspired me. Not to get new boobs (although the thought has crossed my mind more than once over the years) but just in general.

New boobs? Don’t mind if I do.

Jane explained that she had safely augmented her breast size by a good cup or two and she was feeling mighty fine about it — or rather, them. “You know how I feel about my body, Viv.” And I do.

Jane feels for her body what I’ve rarely felt for mine, and what I know few women feel for theirs: complete and utter love. That’s what makes her decision so awesome. She wasn’t trying to fix a body that dissatisfied her. Rather, she was enhancing a body she genuinely values.

The first time I met Jane, she was two children down and pregnant with twins. The second time I met her, she was four kids down and had the stretch marks and soft belly to prove it. Yet there she was, strutting her stuff in a bikini and looking damn sexy.

Sexy on Jane is different from sexy on the catwalk.

Sure, she’ll strike a pose for the camera; the girl’s nuts about selfies and she’s got the whole sex kitten thing nailed, no doubt to her boyfriend’s delight. But that’s not where her true awesomeness lies. Her true awesomeness lies in her confidence; in her ability to just not give a shit.

While I’d sit in my Muskoka chair with my arms strategically placed across my bare stomach, she’d sit in hers with this enviable ‘don’t care’ air. So really, it should have come as no surprise that when I asked if her boyfriend loved her new and improved breasts, she replied, “not as much as I do!” That’s the spirit I’m talking about.

Before Jane’s boobs inspired me, they took me for a head spin.

I have to admit, when I saw one particular photo of Jane on Instagram, I was a little overwhelmed.  Let’s just say it was an aerial shot and her cuppeth did runneth over! My immediate response was, “whaaaaaaaaaaat?”

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Me: A deer in the headlights. Photo courtesy of Holger Kraft.

I was concerned. Seriously, I thought an intervention might be in order so that we could save her from conforming to man’s vision of the perfect woman. Could the real Jane please identify herself? However, after processing the situation to the degree of over-processing that seems to be my unique speciality — that and having had a good catch-up by phone — I’ve come to the following realization.

My response was not inspired by some feminist stance. (Oh no. That would have been almost honourable.) It came from my inability to believe that a woman might freely choose to undergo such surgery because she loves to love her body so much, she figures why not love it even more.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t suddenly become an advocate for breast augmentation.

I’m definitely not suggesting you rush out and get implants, regardless of whether or not you love your body. I’m just saying that if bigger boobs beckon and you feel confident they’re beckoning you for the right reason, who am I to judge?

This whole business has been a learning experience.

Or rather a refresher. I’m fully aware of my tendency to judge others and hope that over time  I’ll learn to catch these judgements before they rear their ugly little heads. But until then, I’m just glad to have the awareness that allows me to assess and correct. To get myself back on track. To see what my thoughts about others really have to say about my thoughts about me. Speaking of which …

About me and boob jobs.

Like I said earlier, the thought has crossed my mind.

Because of my ethnic background and the fact I lost my mother to breast cancer when she was just 29, I underwent genetic testing in my thirties. I remember waiting for the results and thinking if I test positive they can remove these potentially deadly bumps and replace them with a bigger, better pair. (Always look for the silver lining.) I tested negative.

Could I have opted for them anyway? Yes, I suppose so, but here’s the thing. As much as I’ve always wanted to possess a pair of grown-up breasts versus the teen ones I’m still sporting at the age of 51, I have too often associated the notion of implants with fixing a deficit so that I look like a proper woman, and I don’t want to be a fixer-upper.

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I don’t want to be a fixer-upper. Photo courtesy of Nikki.

That’s why I’m done with push-up bras. And it’s why I won’t be getting new boobs despite coveting everyone else’s. But that’s just me.

Jane — she’s no fixer-upper. Take her or leave her as she is. She won’t go changing just to please you, but she’ll go changing to please herself. And to that I say, all the power to her.

Viv for today xo

Notwithstanding my admiration for Jane, I believe it’s essential that we model a positive body image for our children — especially for our girls. You can check out what I have to say on the subject here.

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