Boob Woes...Again.

As I'm sure everyone knows, I've had a breast reduction.  It was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.  I lived with size 34D breasts for several years at that point and knew that they were only going to get bigger and saggier.  I wanted to have the freedom to not wear a bra again and to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not see a tiny little head, arms, and legs and then REALLY BIG BOOBS.  I always tell girls who are self-conscious about their breasts to NOT get implants.  It's not worth carrying around the extra weight, hassle, and awful attention (from both sexes). 

So, while my brother was visiting, Sergio, my other brother, thought it would be a good idea to go to Park City.  I balked at the idea, thinking that there's enough to see in SLC and nothing to see in PC, but John wanted to go.  I consoled myself with the idea that there are great outlets on the way.  As everyone headed over to J.Crew, I surreptitiously slid into the "Motherhood Maternity" store. 

I felt so so so out of place.  It was like walking into the JC Penney women's section..."I'm way way way too young for this," I thought to myself.  And then, "Oh my God, I'm pregnant.  I'm really pregnant!  What's my family going to think?"  Although I get anxiety attacks like these every so often, I just take a deep breath and remind myself that I'm not that teenager anymore who's scared to death every time she touches a boy's peener that she's going to get pregnant and incur the wrath of her entire Hispanic, Catholic family.  I'm a 28 year-old woman who's getting a PhD, for God's sake.  Whew.  I'm so happy I'm out of the "being a pregnant teenager" statistic (although I do happily contribute to the pregnant-and-unmarried statistic).

Everything was all light-colored and department-store-y and the clothes were really overpriced, even though it was an outlet.  I meandered a bit by the dresses (awful fabrics and prints) and made my way to the back where they kept the bras, all neatly ordered by color (nude, white, black) and size.  I looked up at the smaller sizes (yeah right), down the middle at the medium sizes (maybe) and then looked all the way down to the hot-air-balloon-sized bras (no way!).  The lady who worked there came over and pulled out her measuring tape.  I stared wide-eyed in horror as she walked towards me, menacingly, I swear, with her tape pulled out like she was going to strangle me, cut Little Nacho out, and leave me for dead in a box in the back.

She started measuring me around under my boobs and right on top of them, did some quick store-lady boob-measuring calculation, and told me, as if she was telling me what the season's hot colors were, that I was approximately a 36E.  A 36E.  Do you know what a size 36E bra looks like?  It's not pretty.  It's not sexy.  And when you're looking to buy a nursing bra, you're not going to find lace and pretty colors like pink or blue. 

I was a bit depressed after this revelation.  How had  I jumped from a large 34B to a very immense 36E (2 inches extra around my chest and 3 cup sizes larger)?  I now completely understand and empathize with my mother when she would tell me (after I snickered once at her mommy boobies) that her breasts were the way they were because she had 3 kids.  I thought she was just using us as an excuse, but now I totally agree and cannot wait to hold it over Nacho's head when he starts being a jerky teenager.  Unfortunately, I can't even say that Billy likes them better now.  He was always more of an ass man :)