May 30, 2013 by Sarah Christine Bolton
My entire life (well, since the age of 12), I have had what I like to refer to as “perky” boobs. In other words, I basically didn’t have breasts at all.
It used to bug me. I used to venture into Victoria’s Secret, and pretend that they would actually carry my size.
(They don’t. Apparently, having a cup size of 32AA requires that you shop in the tween section at Target).
But then, I got pregnant, and then I started breastfeeding, and voila! For the first time in my life, I have cleavage!
And I’m not really a fan of it.
First of all, forget running. Forget jumping. Aside from the fact that is just freaking’ hurts, I honestly feel like I might be suffocated by bouncing boobs in my face.
Second of all, I’m not a fan of bras. Maybe it has to do with early-teenage trauma in Victoria’s Secret stores (see above), but I personally prefer to go freestyle. It just feels more comfortable, less constricting. But when you have a nice rack, well, racks need a little support or they fall off the wall, if you know what I mean.
And even though I have had larger breasts for about three years now, I’m still not really used to them.
Take the other night, for example.
I had a gig taking pictures at a seed investor presentation and reception. That means, a lot of really smart people pitching really smart ideas to really rich people.
And I had to pretend that I actually blended in with everyone. I pulled out my “corporate” black slacks and a blue striped dress shirt. I even rocked out a French twist. I was feeling good. Taking pictures. Networking like a boss.
Well, this event lasted for almost six hours, and I didn’t have time to pump at any point during the day. My six-month-old normally nurses every 18 minutes (ok, that’s a slight exaggeration), and so six hours is a long time to go.
Note: For those of you who aren’t breastfeeding or just don’t happen to know breastfeeding trivia 101, when your boobs fill up with milk, they get bigger. And the longer in between nursings, the bigger they get.
Well, apparently, my boobs grew and I didn’t even know it. Until a very kind soul leaned in and whispered to me that my second button had popped open.
And it had probably been that way for, hm, who knows? A couple of hours?
The good news? My Victoria’s Secret trauma has now been one-upped by my button-popped-open-while-in-professional-setting trauma.