This is my disheartening story about nursing. If you have nursed and can empathize, read on. If you plan to nurse one day, I beg you – stop here. I truly believe in nursing and it being a beautiful thing and yada yada ya, but I don’t know that you’ll want to see any of the factual information shared below.
When I found out I was pregnant, I decided almost immediately I would nurse.
When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I decided not-so-almost-immediately I would nurse.
The image of me trying to nurse two babies had me wishing I could drink a beer. I saw myself teaching the boys curse words before they were a full month old simply in the matter of minutes I tried to rearrange them against my chest.
Before I was pregnant, I was a C cup. When I was pregnant, I was a D cup. When I was nursing, I was a – holy cow it still pains me – DD cup. People had warned me that my boobs would “shoot out to here” but I didn’t believe just how true that would be, and suddenly, a week into nursing, I found myself in need of a new bra.
Here’s my DD cup bra shopping story.
I step into a specialty bra shop that I’ve heard good things about and start perusing. A woman approaches from the back and asks what I’m looking for and can she help me and she eyes my chest when I tell her I used to be a C with a look that says, “Um. Not now you aren’t, Sweetie.”
She tosses a few bras my way to try on, and this is when I realize holy crap – I’m a DD! And suddenly, in the middle of clipping the hooks on a bra on the woman opened the curtain and walked straight into my dressing room! My bra wasn’t even on yet!
I was in shock.
Here I was, topless, eyes wide, wondering “Why are you in here with me?” but before I knew it she was pulling out a tape measure “tsk tsking” and saying “38” and “Oh my,” and grabbing my boobs and telling me, “Bend over dear and really get them in there!”
I left the store completely traumatized. But I also had the best-fitting bra I’d ever owned, so I shrugged my shoulders as I pulled out of the parking lot, vowed to tell my best friend when I got back to work and left it at that.
Anyway…fast forward to me being done nursing. John had said things like, “Remember when you used to have gazunguz?” And I would say, “Thank God I don’t have those anymore.” But a month passed. And another month passed. And suddenly, I didn’t have anything close to gazungas. I barely had “uz.”
It was time to bra shop again. This time, I just picked up a B. No talking to anyone. No dressing room. In. Out. Bra.
But a week later I found myself in the store saying this, “I bought a B here last week, and it’s just not fitting right.”
The woman hanging up bras looked at me and then looked at my chest. “Well that’s because you’re an A Sweetie. Maybe even an AA.”
I couldn’t breathe. An AA?? Ugh. Did you even need to wear a bra when you were an AA? In shock, I took a few of the A bras she handed me back to the dressing room and tried them on.
“How are they working out?” I heard her ask from outside the door.
“How are they working out?” I heard her ask from outside the door.
“Good,” I said completely distraught.
“Well, I found an AA for you that you should try on, but it doesn’t have an underwire.”
I didn’t even need to see that AA. She tossed it over the door and I glared at that AA. I grabbed it and shoved it in its own little corner away from me. I didn’t even care if it fit better, I was not trying that puppy on. Plus, did she think someone who was an AA wanted an everyday bra that didn’t include an underwire, and padding, and more padding, and a discount for breast implants?
Sigh. Double sigh.
The end.
Well, until tomorrow …
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