Photo by: Shutterstock

I Lost The Boob Jackpot

by Deb of "Urban Moo Cow"
Photo by: Shutterstock

Before I became pregnant my bra size was 34A. Truth be told, however, I barely filled the A cup.

But you know what? It was okay.

I wore lightly padded t-shirt bras [ed. note: I was going to put a link to Victoria’s Secret but the photos of women with slightly parted lips and billowing breasts made me throw up in my mouth], and I was thin enough for a flat chest to be perfectly fine. Not sexy, but fine. I was fine.

Fine, fine, finey, fine, FINE.

Then I got pregnant and my boobs went up to a full size A cup. It was amazing!

“Look how big I am!” I’d cry to my husband, who would nod and kiss me on the head, in adoration and not at all to comfort me in my moment of hysterical delusion.

A few days after I had my son, I hit the boob jackpot: my milk came in. All of a sudden I had these ginormous size B breasts that I could barely stuff into my size A bras.

LOOK. HOW. BIG. I. AM.”

My husband had to admit, at that point, I definitely had legitimate boobs.

Those legitimate boobs stuck around for the entire year in which I nursed my son. I bought some 34Bs and shoved my 34As to the back of the drawer. I almost gave them away, but I thought it would jinx me. If kept the 34As, I reasoned, I would never need them again.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

As soon as I weaned my son, my boobs deflated like two pathetic birthday balloons found in the corner of your living room three months after your son’s birthday party. (True story.)

But they didn’t go back to the firm, perky 34As of my youth. Nooooooooo.

They are, instead, like two stretched out crew socks hanging from my sternum. And I’m no longer thin and able to pass my booblessness off as heroin chic, or whatever. Now when I lie down my boobs collapse into my fatty torso, like two flans in a cupboard.

And all I have to say is, What. The. Actual. F-.

Aren’t your boobs supposed to get bigger after you have children? Isn’t that one of the material benefits? When my embryonic cells were standing in line at the gene pool, how did they miss that part?

I want a refund.

Tell me, did you win the boob jackpot?

Deb is a Brooklyn-based writer, blogger and mom. You can read more about life with her toddler, husband, and sweet (but neurotic) corgi on her blog, Urban Moo Cow. She can also be found on Facebook, Twitter and Google+.

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