Am I happy about it? Gee, I don't know...would YOU be happy if YOUR boobs were being horrifyingly distorted by gravity, and because they were huge (thanks Mom), you had to wonder if you'd wake up tomorrow with them smacking you in the shins?
Seriously, I remember thinking when I was younger that I didn't want to grow up to be like my parents. Afterall...I was going to be "kewl" (only back then, we spelled that "cool"). Yet here I am at the tender age of 45, grieving the loss of not only my perky boobies, but my perky mind, which has acquired many of Mom's traits, first and foremost that of needing anti-depressants, and a lot of caffeine to even be able to remember my own name.