This week on the season premiere of Dancing with the Stars, Sherri Shepherd, told the live audience that she thought she may have left her boobies on the dance floor. The crowd roared, as did I, because my boobies and I are not seeing eye to eye these days. They have let me down or rather they have fallen down! The boobie drop is perplexing to me. My ta ta’s have always been quite perky. From the moment puberty set in my boobies have been over achievers. I can remember the day they started to bud. I was running through my parents bedroom and haphazardly bumped into the corner of my parents high chest of drawers. The pain was unfathomable, even worse than when I rode my brother’s bike and fell off the seat hitting the boy bar. From the moment of impact my little right bud starting throbbing, intent on letting me know that she did not like being bumped. I ran to my mother in agony. “I think it is time for me to get a training bra mom. I hit my boobie.” I admitted half crying. My mom, who for what ever reason was amused, took me in her arms to comfort me. In my mind, a bra was the answer. If my buds were covered, they would be protected. My mother took me to Belk’s junior department the following weekend. After some chuckles between the sales clerk and my mom, I was told to try on a pretty Scooby Doo yellow training bra. It fit, just like I knew it would.
As I matured, I grew to really like my breasts. They became a perfect small C cup, an exact handful my college boyfriend had marveled. I remember seeing Madonna’s boobs in a photo where she posed nude in the street hitchhiking. My boobs closely resembled hers. Once I even had a friend who was contemplating getting her breasts augmented, ask me if she could take a picture of mine in to show to her surgeon. Obviously, I obliged and was flattered by the compliment.
By the time I got pregnant in my latter thirties my ta ta’s were still holding up nicely. Sure a little bit of gravity had set in, but they were still aging gracefully and seemed alert. Until that bitch mother nature decided to mess with me. By the time I was entering my second trimester, my sweet little perfect C’s had gone on a binge. They blossomed up so fast that they were bulging out of my Spanx bra. Now that was a problem. My friend Nel (who also happened to be pregnant) and I went bra shopping. We browsed through Sak’s looking for bra’s. Our bra consultant quickly escorted us back to the dressing room for a proper bra fitting. Nel went first. She had grown an entire cup size, and the poor thing still had three months to go. Next it was my turn to be fitted. “Big Mama is coming through” I said giggling as I made my way past Nel to the consultant. She placed a tape measure around my bobs who were already spilling out of my current bra. “34 F” she announced matter of factly. “What? You must be joking!” I said fearful of the truth. How in the world had I gone up three or four bra sizes in four damn months? I wondered. I had another six more months to go with this baby in my stomach. “You look beautiful. It is just pregnancy. Your breasts will go down after you have the baby.” The consultant said trying in vain to make me feel better. Nel also offered her condolences. Hanging my head down, I headed back to the bra department. I picked out a few that looked big enough to fit Dolly Parton, none of which had lace or anything that resembled cute, and prepared for the worse. Frowning, I lassoed my big ass boobs into a very unflattering nude bra.The cups covered half of my torso. Gone were my small breasts and Victoria Secret’s bras. They would now be replaced by Queen Latifah and Dolly’s type braziers. How would I ever find matching panties? I never wanted boobs this big, honestly. Anytime I try to complain to anyone it is always the same response, “I bet your husband loves them.” No not so much, I want to scream. He is a butt guy, and even if he did like big boobs, I sure as hell did not!
My boobs remained a 34 F until birth. Today, over a year after giving birth, my boobs have definitely deflated, but interestingly enough, only at the top. What to Expect When you are Expecting did not mention this. They did not go back to their perky selves, so the bra clerk lied. I guess I have to take the good with the bad. My boobies can imitate their old selves in a Vicky C bra. It may be an illusion, but isn’t everything these days? My husband is still a butt man, and most importantly, I have an amazing daughter that one day I get to tak bra shopping!