All right. I promised a post about boobs and I will deliver. But, with apologies to Christina at Rockin’ the Suburbs, I fear my problem is the exact OPPOSITE of that detailed by Linda at All and Sundry.
I wasn’t well-endowed before I got pregnant, my friends. I was a generous B cup, and with my huge hips and generous butt, it looked a little odd, but not comical. I was still somewhat proportional. When my body began to blossom from the pregnancy, the B cup stretched to a C cup, and I was delighted (the D and double D that came late in pregnancy and while nursing were a little much, even I will admit).
But now, post-pregnancy, post-breastfeeding, post-baby-weight-loss, I’d be lucky if someone guessed me at a full A cup. Now, I haven’t been measured for a new bra yet, but I’m wearing my favorite pre-baby one right now, and if I suck in my stomach/chest/rib area enough, the bra will touch my skin only at the shoulders and a little bit under my arms. Sad.
Is that all? Of course not. Because even though they are tiny, there is still enough to sag, though mine seem to be migrating toward my back instead of my belly. And they look so sad that way. Sad, sad, saggers.
I tried to take advantage of the situation by going braless with my tank tops. But Angel Face heartily discourages that practice by pulling the front of my shirt down (at any moment, while I’m carrying her, while she walks by me as I sit on the couch or floor, while I’m feeding her breakfast) and pinching my nipples with all her might. I understand that they are fascinating, but damn, that hurts.
So while Linda dreams of jogging and horseback riding and eating dinner without dragging her boobs through it, I fantasize about filling out a bikini top again and wearing a tank top and baseball hat without getting mistaken for a boy and halter tops … oh the halter tops.
I know it’s ridiculous and shallow and trivial and oh-so-meaningless. And were you to ask me if I would trade my post-pregnancy boobs and Angel Face for my pre-pregnancy boobs and nothing, I wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. But sometimes a girl just wants to feel like … a girl.