This is post is a bit of an Ode to my Breasts. Just letting you know ahead of time. If you're uncomfortable reading about breasts, or thinking about my breasts, maybe you should stop reading right about.....here.
Ok, now that the prudes have moved on....Here we go. So, you hear that with pregnancy your breasts will get larger. Right? We all know this. As a thinner person who vacillates between an A or a B cup bra size, I've always been intrigued about this side effect of pregnancy. Of course, you read things like, "Well your boobs will look like enormous, veiny, disgusting globules of fat." So I didn't get too excited. After I found out I was pregnant one of the first symptoms I got was the painful, tender breasts. As I went on in my first trimester, I knew they were getting bigger, rounder, more firm....basically they were turning into the marvelous boobs I have never had.
But did I appreciate it? Did I let my husband appreciate them? Uh...no. I was too busy being a miserable, puking, bitchy mess. So, with little attention paid to them, they just continued to grow. And I continued to shove them into my little bras and call it good. Not paying too much attention to the gouges in my shoulders at the end of the day from my bra straps or the fact that my nipples were literally popping out of my bras. I mean, I was dressed, so I figured it was good enough.
In the last week or so I've finally been able to start to appreciate these pretty things growing out of my chest. I mean, they literally look like the breasts women here in LA pay thousands to buy. They are a great size, perfect handful (or as my husband said, "more than a handful") and seem to defy gravity. And guess what? They don't hurt anymore! So yeah, I'll admit to wearing low-cut shirts to the very few social functions I've been able to attend in the last few weeks. This resulted in my husband not being able to participate in dinner conversation with me because he was too distracted. And female friends who stopped in the middle of sentences to ask if they could "touch." Really. Oh, and I may have distracted myself a few times in the lenses of my husband's sun glasses.
Sooo this weekend when I woke up finally feeling somewhat better (more on this later, it deserves its own entire post), I decided maybe it was time to go get some bras that actually could restrain these mountains of womanhood. So I went to Victoria's Secret. I thought I would get a couple of bras just to "get by" because, what if I have to buy bigger bras later? I figured I'd grab one white and one black just to supplement my current bra-wardrobe.
Well, first thing that happened is I walk back to the fitting room, where a cute little VS employee asks if she can help me. "Yes..." I say, launching into my story, "You see, I'm PREGNANT and I don't know what size bra to buy and I just need to get a few basics and I'm hoping you can measure me and then recommend a few to help me get by and..." She cut me off. "Um yeah, sure. Can I finish helping this lady first?"
Ooops. I realized she was standing by an open fitting room, bras in hand, to help another customer. Well, then why did she invite me into a conversation to make a fool of myself? Oooops.
Anyhow, she comes over eventually and starts wrapping her little pink measuring tape around my busting cleavage. "Ok," she says, "Looks like you're between a 32 and a 34, but since you'll probably keep growing, I'll just grab the 34."
Sounds reasonable. "Ok," I say, "But what cup size?""Oh," she looks nonplussed. "You're a 34D."
"Um...excuse me, did you say 34B?"
"No, D." And she wanders off and then proceeds to hand me these enormous bras that have these gigantic straps and more fabric than four of my bras put together. What??? I looked at her in disbelief until she started to get weirded out and so I went into the fitting room to try them on, all the while thinking they would fall off my B-cup breasts. There must be some mistake.
But, no, no mistake. I put on the first bra (a weird, soft, flesh-colored thing that covers most of my chest) and it fits. And more importantly, it fits really, really well. And it's soft. And it's comfortable. And it's holding up my girls in a gentle, maternal way. Holy shit. Who IS this person??
So I try on a few more and realize that all she has brought me are huge, full-coverage, no-padding bras. Now, I don't know anything about being well-endowed but I do know that since this is the first time I've ever belonged to that group, I'm not sure I want to spend my time here living in non-sexy, nondescript, Grandma bras. So, blushing, I poke my head out and say, "Um, I know I don't need much padding, but could you bring me a few that are slightly padded and a little bit more low cut?"
She blinked at me and I instantly felt like a slut. But then she brought me more options. And those fit too. And I loved my body. (By the way, I realized an added benefit of boob jobs...your waist and hips instantly look smaller!) I ended up buying three bras. One white, no-padding, Grandma bra. One slightly lacy, slightly-padded, but still purely functional black bra. And one ultra-cute, slightly padded, polka-dot bra.
So yeah. Here I am. For the time being, I belong to a group of women that I spent most of high school envying. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like my little breasts. They're pretty. They fit my body. My husband likes them. And, with the help of Victoria's Secret, I can get some great cleavage going on when I need to. But still. I have always wondered what it feels like to belong to this group. The best I could describe it to my husband, "Imagine if your penis suddenly grew 4 inches overnight."
And the best part about my breasts? They are huge (literally huge) symbols of womanhood and fertility that I am proudly wearing about. I mean, vanity aside, these boobs are going to serve an extremely amazing purpose. My body is getting ready to be a woman very basic sense. I feel so....goddess-like and maternal, all in one.
And that's that. Next week, when I hit the second trimester, I plan on writing a summary of first trimester symptoms that I experienced. But, somehow, I thought my newly found friends deserved a post all of their own.