February 26, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
It’s that time of year again, Internets! The time of year that DG goes bra shopping. If y’all are one of my male readers, go have a cup of coffee and join the rest of us at the end of this post. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.
Since having babies a few years ago my body has gone through mega changes. At the height of my nursing days I was tandem nursing (that’s nursing two at a time, for those of you unfamiliar with the term) and the girls? Well, let’s just say they were ENORMOUS. The biggest my chest ever was before kids was a 34B. A year post-partum with Bug Boy and I was a three sizes bigger in clothes with DD bras. And they fit snuggly, depending on what time of day it was. Hello, NURSING BRAS! Since I was QUICKLY PREGGERS with Bugaboo (they were due exactly two years apart) the girls and the hips never returned to normal size. You know, some things in mirror appear larger than reflected? Yup, that was me.
Six months after Bugaboo my body pretty much stalled. The girls were a hefty DDEF at that point (I say that, because the nursing bras I bought were adjustable for all three sizes, I still don’t know EXACTLY what size they were). And there I stayed for another year. The girls didn’t budge. The hips don’t lie. I had massive post-partum depression (due to traumatic birth, mono and Bugaboo’s developmental status, all rolled into one neat little package). I was still nursing two children. Yes, two. They were one and three. I did eventually convince Bug Boy that he was NOT going to preschool while still nursing. Not to mention that the bed, it was getting crowded. The husband, he was sleeping in the spare room.
Fast forward a few years and we just bought our current home. One day I asked Bugaboo (just before he turned three) if he wanted to take a nap and nurse with mommy and he looked at me as if to say, “Woman, are you insane? I have bookcases to climb, windows to jump out of and a whole bag of rice to throw on the floor. Can’t you see I am busy?” And that was that. TADA! End of my nursing career. The girls began to shrink. And get smaller. And disappear. Until last year, when I decided to have myself measured for the first time in several years. D cup. Okay. We can deal with this. I’m clearly getting smaller, but they still look decent. I’ve lost weight, so they are in proportion to my body.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas of this year, I went on the get-the-flu-and-lose-ten-pounds-in-two-days-diet. Twice. I seriously lost over ten pounds and dropped nearly two clothing sizes. I was exhausted all the time. I’m still recovering, and OH LOOK! I had the flu again this week! BONUS! A few more pounds! You’ve GOTTA TRY this diet, it’s the new black! This week, I noticed the bras were digging into my now-protruding rib cage. The girls, they were hurting. The bras were shifting all day long. Time to shop? Yippee. My favorite thing to do. N.O.T. Unless it is at Tarzhay, in which case, I can shop until I am bleeding out the eyes. Nice visual, huh?
Yesterday, because I had nothing better to do after recovering from the flu and going to a Home and School meeting, I decided to go to my favorite pink
porn clothing lingerie store and get measured. Talk about a major blow to my ego this week. Egads! 34B! NOT FAIR! I humbly tried on several bras, with the help of a buxom store assistant, my sagging little girls shoved into this style and that. I looked in the mirror and decided I looked a wreck. I look frail. My bones are sticking out. Except for my ever present REAR END, I seriously look awful. My hair is a mess, my clothes are ill-fitting and the girls? Right back where we started, which is okay. Well, except for the gravity part. For some reason, after five-plus years of nursing and two pregnancies, they just don’t stay up by themselves. I have no idea how that happened. I ended up buying two bras there (sans padding, UGH) and some undies and two bras at another store. Four oughta do it for now. I hope.
Wearing new bras and panties makes it feel like Christmas, doesn’t it? Especially when they actually fit. Imagine that.
So, I’m happy, the girls are happy. The underwear makes me happy because it ain’t sagging and giving me wedgies. And tomorrow I go for the new ‘do. New me! YEAH! I need this refresher, after the past few weeks I’ve had. And the husband? He’ll be happy. He doesn’t care what size they are, as long as I’ve still got ’em and he can check ’em out from time to time. Which I guess you really did not need to know. This is why I have a TMI category.
Oh, and the new car? The husband arrived home last evening beaming from ear to ear. I asked him what he was up to. Because he is usually up to something when smiling. He merely stated, “I am very happy with my new car. It was nearly an orgasmic experience.” To which I replied, “I think you just had the heated seats turned up too high, dear.”