It has come to that point in my pregnancy–the point where all the things I love are slowly whittled away and all that I’m left with is over-sized clothing that is both ill-fitting and unflattering. Woo. It all began when my underwear split on me towards the end of last week. I lost a bunch of weight and went down to ‘S’ size in Victoria Secret. Unfortunately, my ass has abruptly decided that it can no longer be contained in the stifling confines of size ‘S’. Fantastic.
Luckily enough, I still have underwear from before my weight gain that had been regulated down to ‘that time of the month’ underwear. As shameful as it is for me to admit my ass (and hips) are rapidly expanding, I’m okay with having a safe alternative that is not the much loathed ‘granny panty.’ The same can not be said for my bras, however.
Since I’ve had boobs, I’ve leaned towards pretty bras. I wore the wrong size forever and after a lot of back pain, finally sized myself properly with a lot of research and assistance. I went from wearing a 36B to a 36D (Victoria’s Secret sized me) and then to a 32DDD. That last size has been my saving grace. My shoulders are now squared and without pain, my back no longer aches from hefting the substantial weight of my boobs (I am not a ‘big girl’, but I am also not a ‘petite’ girl either; I have a long, narrow torso and a lot of hips and boobs), and all was right with the world. Until the pregnancy happened. And my boobs decided to grow.
It all hit about three weeks or so ago. I’d avoided the boob growth and thought, foolishly, that I’d be fine and they wouldn’t expand to the size of anime levels of ridiculousness. I was wrong. Small animals could be lost (and subsequently smothered) in my bosom. My cleavage rivals that of the grand canyon. I am every Japanese businessman’s dream, and it is awful. Because my beautiful, lovely bras can no longer contain the sheer massiveness that are my mammaries.
The realization that I would eventually need to hand in my laced and decorated bras with sizable price tags for nursing gear was always there. I just had the expectation that the trade-in wouldn’t result in me wanting to murder everyone who ever manufactured a bra for mums-to-be or nursing women. It seems, that in the world of post-natal, the size ’32’ does not exist. Especially not in sizes beyond ‘B.’ Are you freaking serious right now?!
Unless, of course, I want to pay the sizable price tag of $65+. I’m already doing that for my per-existing, pretty bras! Why would I toss that kind of cash at something that’s going to be smothered with milk and unraveled by tiny, prying baby hands?! Clearly, the only women giving birth out there that are also a 32 band size are freaking millionaires. Hell, any woman that is a 32 is pretty much screwed if she wants to pay anything less than $30-40, as most stores like Target and Walmart don’t even carry 32 band sizes. If they do, you’ll find only a meager selection of A’s and B’s. Seriously, seriously?!
We’re going on a hunt soon, but it’s not going to be a fun one. I’m going to attempt to try a 34. I already know how it’s going to end. I’m already resigning myself to the possibility that I’ll spend the latter days of my pregnancy and the beginnings of my days as a mother in ill-fitted, pain-inducing bras. I’m saddened by this. I’m using my boobs for their intended purpose and I’m being punished for it.
I can’t go through boobie muffin top for much longer without things getting just plain awkward at work, so I’m going to be forced to find a solution. Sigh. Trying on bras is the worst.