Here we go, round two of discussing mammary glands. Ew, I don’t think I’ve said those words since high school Biology class. In TALES FROM THE BOOB we went on a little trip from the start of nursing to the finish, but we never discussed the aftermath. I loved nursing (Isn’t it so annoying when people say that?) but the aftermath is ugly. I’ve dubbed it “Breakfast Boob Syndrome.” Women told me about the pancake boob factor post-nursing but no way did I think that would apply to me. I just smiled and thought
not these ta-tas
. My boobs were fun. They were full. They looked good under a shirt. They would do what they needed to do for my baby and go right back to where they started. Not so much. The skin on these puppies is not hot and not going away. For example, if I pinched a section of my pre-nursed boobs I would be able to grab a nice chunk of fat. Fat full of life. Now when I pinch myself (what, you don’t pinch your boobs?) all I get is sad, lackluster skin. No more fun. No more sunshine. My boobs need to go on depression medication. What’s worse is that I walk around my house and see things that remind me of my deflated Breakfast Boobs daily:
Talk about body dysmorphic disorder. I walked into a lingerie store to give my Breakfast Boobs a shot of caffeine and the woman there asked me what size I thought I was. With confidence I answered a 36C/D. She gave me a confused look and said “let’s just check to make sure.” She wrapped measuring tape around me, offered a crooked little smile and replied, “Look dear, you are a 32B/C.” I felt like saying, “Yea but what if I just pick them up like this and then smoosh them together like so…wanna check again?”
Wacoal makes the best bras to fight this syndrome. They will cost you more than a week’s worth of groceries but it’s worth it.
Anyone suddenly craving pancakes?