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It all started in the 5th grade. I started to notice my chest size increasing. "Why now?" I thought. I was still sort of a little girl. My barbies were still re-enacting my grandmothers soap operas and telenovelas. My favorite television show was Double Dare and Popples still graced my bed. Surely I was just getting chubby, not boobies. I would lay on the floor on my stomach hoping to smash them flat, all the while praying to God to remain titty free just a few more years. My highly medically form of breast reduction didn't work and I was a full C cup by the time 6th grade commenced.
My chest size became the topic of many a whispered conversation. It seemed that I was the only girl at my school wearing a legitimate bra. Buying the bra was just as horrifying as putting it on everyday. My mother would be sent back out into the bra department to grab bigger sizes as I sat in the dressing room with tears in my eyes. She had started with the training bra and that had proved to be a rookie move. My breasts had remained small enough for that ridiculous "starter" bra for exactly 12 minutes. I assume those minutes passed as I slept in my Popple filled bed because I don't remember having mosquito bites laying on my chest. We left the store with beige 18 hour bras that came in a box. I'm glad that my parents decided against the sexier bras that came on hangers since it allowed me to be childish a bit longer.
By 8th grade my body had transformed into a damn swimsuit model during the summer. I had grown the last bit of my 5'8 height and my waist had slimmed and dropped the last bit of baby fat. My breasts had also settled for a 34 D on my thin frame to really pull the look together. If I had been 22 maybe I would've been okay with this new body. During an assembly a boy sitting behind me was able to unlatch my bra. The mortification was epic as I ran to the bathroom in tears. I began to wear the baggiest clothes I could stand and walked with a slouch. I have always hated being the center of attention (probably why I write a blog and don't have a vlog on youtube) and I really hate attention from the opposite sex. I blamed my breasts for this attention and that began my hatred of my body.
Fast forward to adulthood and I had a new baby boy in my arms. The fear of pain from breastfeeding had him drinking from a bottle during his first day of life. I hadn't made any milk or colostrum yet and was afraid he wasn't going to get anything to eat. That immature notion had caused issues with him latching. Getting him to accept my nipple over the soft latex one on the formula bottles full of milk was a challenge and it eventually took 3 of us working as a team to make breastfeeding a success. However, once he latched on and began to eat I was absolutely in love with the act of feeding my baby with these things I had once loathed. I powered through all of the situations that arise when nursing your babies. I nursed while having Mastitis three times. I suffered with clogged milk ducts and one really uncomfortable kid free trip to Mexico with one breast that wouldn't pump. I held my head high as I walked around with two very large breasts that were distinctly different sizes. Ugly nursing bras, noticeable nipple maxi pads, fighting the urge to wake my sleeping baby to soothe the pain of full jugs and the inevitable eye full of milk spray that my kids all experienced. I wouldn't have changed a thing. I would sit and watch my baby eat all day if I could. By the time I realized I was feeding my final child I would cry at the thought of someday having to ween her. I had become so in love with our special time together that I never wanted to quit. I would still be breast feeding her today at 4 years old had my husband not intervened and encouraged me to get a new hobby. It was time to move on from that period of my mommy life and give more time to my family as a whole.
The absolute best thing that happened during my breastfeeding experience was my new found love for the breasts I had hated for so many years. I didn't stare at myself in the mirror trying to picture how much better my clothes would look without such a huge built in shelf. I started to laugh at my booby related mishaps. When the inevitable food dropping would land on my shelf I'd just laugh and say, "you can't take me anywhere".
It is nearly 11 years since I started my new love of my breasts. I fed 3 kids for 6 years with these things. I had secretly hoped that I would have the same post-nursing problem that some of my friends developed--incredible shrinking breasts. However, they remain even bigger than they had begun.
Luckily I have come to terms with my large chest. I still wish I could jog without 2 bras on or avoid the back and shoulder pain that comes with the territory. Maybe someday I'll get the nerve to have a reduction and purchase every halter top within arms reach, but until that day comes I'll keep shoving these mounds into my size F cups and pray that my daughters don't overly develop. That would surely kill their father.
By 8th grade my body had transformed into a damn swimsuit model during the summer. I had grown the last bit of my 5'8 height and my waist had slimmed and dropped the last bit of baby fat. My breasts had also settled for a 34 D on my thin frame to really pull the look together. If I had been 22 maybe I would've been okay with this new body. During an assembly a boy sitting behind me was able to unlatch my bra. The mortification was epic as I ran to the bathroom in tears. I began to wear the baggiest clothes I could stand and walked with a slouch. I have always hated being the center of attention (probably why I write a blog and don't have a vlog on youtube) and I really hate attention from the opposite sex. I blamed my breasts for this attention and that began my hatred of my body.
Fast forward to adulthood and I had a new baby boy in my arms. The fear of pain from breastfeeding had him drinking from a bottle during his first day of life. I hadn't made any milk or colostrum yet and was afraid he wasn't going to get anything to eat. That immature notion had caused issues with him latching. Getting him to accept my nipple over the soft latex one on the formula bottles full of milk was a challenge and it eventually took 3 of us working as a team to make breastfeeding a success. However, once he latched on and began to eat I was absolutely in love with the act of feeding my baby with these things I had once loathed. I powered through all of the situations that arise when nursing your babies. I nursed while having Mastitis three times. I suffered with clogged milk ducts and one really uncomfortable kid free trip to Mexico with one breast that wouldn't pump. I held my head high as I walked around with two very large breasts that were distinctly different sizes. Ugly nursing bras, noticeable nipple maxi pads, fighting the urge to wake my sleeping baby to soothe the pain of full jugs and the inevitable eye full of milk spray that my kids all experienced. I wouldn't have changed a thing. I would sit and watch my baby eat all day if I could. By the time I realized I was feeding my final child I would cry at the thought of someday having to ween her. I had become so in love with our special time together that I never wanted to quit. I would still be breast feeding her today at 4 years old had my husband not intervened and encouraged me to get a new hobby. It was time to move on from that period of my mommy life and give more time to my family as a whole.
The absolute best thing that happened during my breastfeeding experience was my new found love for the breasts I had hated for so many years. I didn't stare at myself in the mirror trying to picture how much better my clothes would look without such a huge built in shelf. I started to laugh at my booby related mishaps. When the inevitable food dropping would land on my shelf I'd just laugh and say, "you can't take me anywhere".
It is nearly 11 years since I started my new love of my breasts. I fed 3 kids for 6 years with these things. I had secretly hoped that I would have the same post-nursing problem that some of my friends developed--incredible shrinking breasts. However, they remain even bigger than they had begun.
Luckily I have come to terms with my large chest. I still wish I could jog without 2 bras on or avoid the back and shoulder pain that comes with the territory. Maybe someday I'll get the nerve to have a reduction and purchase every halter top within arms reach, but until that day comes I'll keep shoving these mounds into my size F cups and pray that my daughters don't overly develop. That would surely kill their father.
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