I traded my boobs for a baby

This post was entirely inspired by Jill at Baby Rabies. She wrote a plea to her unborn child to please return her newly-vanished ass. It struck a familiar nerve for me.

I too have grieved the loss of specific body parts since becoming a mother. It has been over two years since I noticed the robbery and I still shed tears, whining to anyone who will listen, about how I have lost my breasts.

My sad tale is a little different from Jill’s, since during my pregnancy, everything was great. In fact, thanks to my unborn child, I spent most of my mama-to-be time looking like I should be on the cover of a men’s magazine.

They had bets going at my office as to which area was growing faster; the belly or the boobs. One female (thank god) coworker put price stickers on the ever growing monsters. We had a very “appropriate” work environment. *snickers*

About 5 months pregnant. Every top I owned had taken on new life thanks to these things!

Let me clarify that I don’t miss the monster jugs I wound up with when I was pregnant, but I do miss the nice full C girls I had before the pregnancy. The ones that stood by me (or rather, in front of me) for more than 10 years.

The “girls” in their 20 year old glory. That’s me on the left with some amazing ladies in Kenya. We were volunteering for Free The Children.

Shortly after Lilly was born, I started noticing that I wasn’t quite filling out anything anymore. I finally had to accept defeat and wander into a lingerie shop to be resized.

The nice lady in the dressing room started off saying, “Well, you’re a little larger than an A…”. And that is where I started crying in the middle of a La Senza.

Just a few tears, though. Not full on ugly cry. That was saved for my car.

I bought a couple of push up bras for the first time in my life. They give me some semblance of the body I had before. But me and the girls, we know it’s just not the same.

In a small sized bikini top…with padding…

Earlier in my years, I had developed a bit of a love for picking out pretty underthings. I liked having a variety, in matching sets. They made me feel cute & sexy, even if most nights I had changed into my pjs by the time my husband got home. I wore them for me. So now here I am, two years later and I have a drawer full of bras I can likely never wear again but yet refuse to throw out.

Some people have a closet full of old skinny clothes. I hoard C cup bras.

My hope is that one day, maybe when I’m knocked up again, the next child will help restore the girls to their once somewhat-voluptuous position, but I am not holding my breath. I have a feeling things will go along the same lines. God will overcompensate me with “preggo fun bags” as my husband’s friends affectionately referred to them (they are a charming bunch of boys…) and then they will slowly vanish to pea-sized versions of their former selves.

Disclaimer – I understand that I am being a complete drama queen and that I should be happy with my body regardless. 99% of the time I am. But this is my blog and I’ll whine if I want to…

However, in an ideal world, our bodies would magically bounce back after babies….it’s a damn good thing they’re worth it

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