I often get unsolicited comments about how little my bump still is...and people may not realize that the primary reason for that is my boobs. They have grown so much, they dwarf my baby bump in size.
I've even said jokingly to Mr. Epic: "Do you think the baby is in my boobs instead of my belly?"
Having exponentially growing breasts brings with it a whole slew of unpleasant side effects. There's the sweating (ew), the chafing (ew), the drooping to nearly your waist if you still had one (eek!), and a whole range of other discomforts and inconveniences.
One of the worst parts, though, is the bra situation. Before getting pregnant, I had finally figured out my proper bra size for the first time in my life, and it felt like a miracle. Choirs singing, harps playing, the whole nine yards. Fast forward a couple of months...and the ladies were already busting out of my new DDs. I switched to some snazzy sports bras in garish colors and thought all would be right with my boob-world again. Well, that batch of sports bras didn't last long until my still-growing breasts and expanding rib cage made them way too small, so...I switched to some larger, less-attractive but still serviceable sports bras. Which...you guessed it...became too small. Peeling your bra off every night, sighing with relief as your red, irritated, pancake-smooshed sisters re-inflate themselves is NOT what I call a good time.
Which brings us to the present. I just found, after much trial and error, a new batch of serviceable bras--these babies look like something my grandma would wear, and give me pointy Mad Men boobs. But they actually don't make me miserable, and don't smash me so much I'm worried about my milk ducts collapsing before I can even start lactating.
So, I raise my decaffeinated, non-alcoholic glass to you other moms and moms-to-be who have experienced the pregnancy tata roller coaster I've been going through.
May the bras be ever in our favor.
One of the worst parts, though, is the bra situation. Before getting pregnant, I had finally figured out my proper bra size for the first time in my life, and it felt like a miracle. Choirs singing, harps playing, the whole nine yards. Fast forward a couple of months...and the ladies were already busting out of my new DDs. I switched to some snazzy sports bras in garish colors and thought all would be right with my boob-world again. Well, that batch of sports bras didn't last long until my still-growing breasts and expanding rib cage made them way too small, so...I switched to some larger, less-attractive but still serviceable sports bras. Which...you guessed it...became too small. Peeling your bra off every night, sighing with relief as your red, irritated, pancake-smooshed sisters re-inflate themselves is NOT what I call a good time.
Which brings us to the present. I just found, after much trial and error, a new batch of serviceable bras--these babies look like something my grandma would wear, and give me pointy Mad Men boobs. But they actually don't make me miserable, and don't smash me so much I'm worried about my milk ducts collapsing before I can even start lactating.
So, I raise my decaffeinated, non-alcoholic glass to you other moms and moms-to-be who have experienced the pregnancy tata roller coaster I've been going through.
May the bras be ever in our favor.
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