That’s it. I’m officially disowning my boobs.
(Can I even call them mine anymore? They seem to be owned and controlled by a tiny, bald crying person.)
Let me tell you why, my friends…
1. If it weren’t for the ample space they now take up, I would be able to fit into most of my pre-pregnancy tops. Now I’m having to slowly restock my closet because I have about two shirts I just keep cycling through. Not that shopping for new clothes is a bad thing…
2. …But it’s sort of becoming a pain. I can’t just walk up and grab any old Medium top like I used to. I have to actually try these suckers on. Which takes time. Which I don’t have the patience for right now. Let’s not forget the fact that Mediums fit a girl with a nice C cup, not E’s. Now extra larges (wow, seeing that typed out is so much more depressing than ‘XL’) are all the rage around these parts.
3. Stretch. Marks. If my only complaint was that they were big, I’d be able to deal… but there’s nothing cute about stretch marks. They’re like two old crack whores after a good beating from their pimp. Used and abused, I’m telling you.
Looking forward to when I stop breastfeeding and they’ll really be cute.