A follow up to this drama-filled post I wrote back in January.
A note to the people on Facebook who pop on over here every once in a while, but don’t necessarily care to read about the status of my working boobs: Skip this one.
Once upon a time, I had a perfect pair. They were perky, full of life, and looked flipping amazing in every top I owned with little to no effort. You all know the whole bend-over-tuck-in-wiggle-push-up bit, right? I NEVER HAD TO DO THAT. They were that cute.
Then along came this…
…and with my transformation into that behemoth of a woman, my boobs became beastly. Gargantuan. Terrifying… yet, still strangely awesome in their own huge way.
The arrival of Maddie brought them to incredible new lactating heights. And weights (probably about 5lbs each at this point, if I had to guess). That one you see there rivaled the size of my newborn.
I nursed Madeline for three months before I gave up (pumping at work became my own personal hell), and the downward spiral began. My boobs became a young 23 year old woman’s worst nightmare — small, saggy, lifeless and anything but cute. My bra size seemed to decrease weekly, which was utterly depressing. That wouldn’t have even be so bad if they would have just FIT into a bra without trying to wiggle out and say hi to everyone constantly.
Enter Summer, 2009. I lost all the baby weight! I was supposed to be able to wear tank tops and sun dresses and have hot, new mom cleavage! Sorry, sister, not happening this year.
Quite frankly, I was pissed at life. I know, I’m seeming a bit dramatic… but for someone who’s had her share of body-hating issues, seeing the one area I never had a problem with turn to complete crap was a little tough.
(Bipolar activity incoming…) Not all was lost though, miraculously! A month or two ago, I started noticing a positive change. I had a mom friend tell me this would happen, but I didn’t really believe her until it did. They were actually starting to behave like good little girls. They weren’t flopping all over the place like they used to, and I could actually stand to look at them for more than two seconds without wanting to gouge my eyes out. They’re still far from what they used to be, but the good old 34C’s are back. That’s progress.
So here’s another bit of newish mom wisdom I’ve gained in a nutshell: They get big, they get bigger, they get HUGE and terrifying, then they look like crap for a while… but none of it lasts forever. They’ll be sort of cute again one day.