My body, I mean. I don’t even recognize it anymore.
Oh sure, my waistline is gone, but that’s not what’s bothering me the most. What I’m most shocked about is my chest.
What set me off is a trip to Motherhood – the maternity store – to get a few new things, just to get me through the summer. Number one on my list – bras.
Any mother who has nursed a child until age two (Two. TWO!) knows that nursing is hard on bras. Especially with a child like the Cakester, who actually figured out how to yank the flaps open herself when old slowpoke Mommy wasn’t quick enough for her. When I found out that I was pregnant again, I went through my maternity bras, and decided that not a single one was decent enough to be worn through another pregnancy. Some of them were so tattered that they weren’t even suitable for the rag bag.
So, off to Motherhood I went. I asked the extremely cheerful saleswoman if she could please measure me for bras, because I wasn’t sure what size to get. I stood in the middle of the store and held out my arms, while she wrapped her little tape around my lady friends. She then announced happily (and very loudly, in front of all the other shoppers), “40 E!”
“I beg your pardon?” I said
“You need 40 E!” she replied cheerfully.
I blinked a few times. “That’s not possible,” I said. “That’s like, 2 cup sizes bigger than I normally wear. I’ve never worn 40 anything.”
“You do now!” she said, and tripped off to the bra section, returning with 4 very granny-looking bras with the most enormous cups I have ever in my life seen. They looked like they could hold a cantaloupe. Or a bowling ball.
I gingerly took the bras as if they were unexploded bombs, and went skeptically into the dressing room. Bee was with me, watching my every move, and she said, “Wow. Those are some pretty big bras Mom.”
I told her that I was positive that the saleswoman had made a mistake in her measuring, and there was no way that these mammoth bras were going to fit. I put one on, fastened the clasp, and lo and behold, it fit perfectly. I looked like I should be in a Cross Your Heart commercial. All that was missing was a knee-length girdle.
I had no choice but to buy the hateful bras, and while I’m certainly not happy about them, I have to admit that they are quite comfortable. And my husband just really could not be happier that I now wear 40 E. He’s thrilled. It’s like every day is Christmas for him.
(Bet you never thought I would write an entire post about bras, did you? I’m just full of surprises).
