Boobies,knockers or bazookas, call them what you will. Women who have them despise them and women who don’t have them desire them. I’ve always taken my ample bosom for granted. Although now I’m in my mid-twenties with a baby under my belt, I have a slight problem. I’ve lost my boobs!
I remember the first time my mum made me wear a bra. It was one of those training bras. The sort with no underwire but a little bit more structure than a vest. I was at junior school so I must have been around 10. After spending the morning wriggling uncomfortably, lunch time rolled round and I’d had enough. I freed myself from the contraption and shoved it to the bottom of my school back.
The next memory I have is bra shopping prior to my move up to secondary school. I can’t have been with my mum when she bought the training bra because on this occasion she made a big hooha. After locating the teeny tiny bras in M&S we made our way to the fitting rooms. She immediately struck up a conversation with the sales assistant, declaring proudly and loudly to everyone within earshot that it was a very special day for me. It was bad enough that the sales assistant had to measure my minuscule boobs whilst I stood there half naked. I didn’t need my mother making matters worse by confirming I was a bra virgin!
The next bra related memory I have is when I’m considerably older. It was around the same time I made the decision not to wear the type of briefs which are sold in multi-packs. Yet another mortifying experience. Try explaining to your mother, who has only ever worn briefs sold in multi-packs, that you would like to start wearing thongs. Not quite as embarrassing as the time she caught me trying to trim my bikini line with her razor, but almost level pegging.
Anyway, there we were browsing the selection of bras on offer in La Senza. I’m now a stroppy teenager who has declared M&S unsuitable. “Only old women shop there” I proclaim. In the faint hope of preventing a public meltdown my mum allows me to choose some of the pretty, yet more practical bras available. Bra shopping with my mother is like shoe shopping. She won’t pay until you’ve been properly measured and the products have her seal of approval. We’d been at this game for several years now, I was familiar with the drill. Only this time there was a problem, the bra didn’t fit! With it been the largest cup size available we were left with no option but to head to M&S! I don’t remember the meltdown but I guess there was one. If I were to ask my mother she’d probably tell me it was epic!
Since then I’ve found it very difficult to buy bras. Only select high street retailers like M&S and Debenhams carry my size and the range of styles is very limiting. This isn’t too much of a problem because I often opt for practicality over style. I’d love to treat myself to some lingerie for a special occasion but in my size it’s just so bloody expensive!
I’ve spent years in envy of girls with a C cup. They can shop for affordable bras at most high street retailers and buying bikinis must actually be an enjoyable experience! So why then, when I’m nearly 3 cup sizes smaller, am I still complaining?
Well you see my boobs have had a tough couple of years. Years which have seen weight loss, weight gain, pregnancy, breast feeding and more weight loss. It would be unfair of me to expect them to remain the same but I can’t help thinking they’ve given up.They may be smaller but they now
sit hang like two sad, deflated soufflés. Like a shadow of their former selves. You wouldn’t be far wrong if you were to suggest that the life had been sucked right out of them!
I know they’ve played a major part in sustaining a life. Like other areas of my body they bear the tell-tale signs of motherhood. Something which I’m sure I’ll learn to accept over time. However if you happened to find them, please tell them I’m sorry. I know I didn’t appreciate them but I’d love it if they’d give me a second chance. Failing that if anyone is willing to fund a boob job I’d be internally grateful!
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