While motherhood has unexplainable joys. Joys and rewards that know no bounds and fill your soul with warmth and security and love, it doesn’t come without its headaches. I got to really experience one of those headaches this past weekend.
I have been opened and honest about what pregnancy did to my body. Sacrificing my body is a small price to pay for the perfection I have found in Turner. But being reminded of how distorted and awkward my body is… I can do without it. This weekend I went to Victoria’s Secret for a new bra. I was still wearing ones that I had bought during pregnancy and knew it was time for a fresh start.
I had a bra fitting and was measured, and to my surprise was given sizes and measurements that, well, I didn’t expect. I have always been a full C cup, and with pregnancy of course, that expanded. I went up a cup size and went from a 34 C to a 36 D. I expected that due to nursing and the inevitable pull of gravity, I would have returned to my original size by now. Well that was not the case.
As the woman measured me, even she seemed surprised when she read my measurements in question form. “38 DD?” she said puzzled. I am sure her reaction was such due to the fact that I am only 5’ 2’’ and a chest measurement of that proportion must have been something that belonged in a circus. It didn’t help that after hearing the sales reps measurement my sister Ruby, you know the one who only reads my blog to scan for her name, said rather loudly, “WHAT?”
As I am sure my face turned a rosey shade of red, all I could do was point to my son and place the blame on him. The sales rep got us several bra options and we went to the dressing room. After trying on several makes and models and materials, I realized that due to pregnancy and the change my body has endured, my boobs are essentially freakshows. They in no way fit in any combination of bra. I felt like I was in my own episode of Golidlocks and the Three Bears.
Brittney and the Three (it was actually several more than three) bras.
This one is too small.
This one is too tight.
This one is too big.
This one is JUST right… expect for the just right one never came. With my sister laughing at my troubles, I asked the attendant for help. Her simple explanation being that as a mother, I basically had to settle for the best mix because apparently bras are made for shapeless women who fit into Barbie’s measurements, and any sort of abnormality is certainly not accommodated.
So despite a tight fight around the circumference of my chest, I settled on a bra that at least held by boobs together. We will not even get into how obvious it became to both my sister and me that I had nursed more on one side than the other.
The realization of my destroyed body only continues. Even nine months after the birth of my son, I still am far from where I was pre-pregnancy. They say it takes you nine months to out the weight on, give yourself nine months to take it off… well, I think I need a little more time.