Nothing but a Mammal

I believe I was fairly old when I understood what makes an animal a mammal. And when I connected that group to humans. That probably should have been my first clue that boobs were going to be problematic for me.

A bit like when I thought Lady Gaga was singing about a strange old guy called 'Papa Ratsy'. Laugh it up friends, true story.

I'm completely boggled as to why my boobs have to grow when I'm pregnant. I already have a generous helping so why do they need to get so much bigger?

Trust me, that is not a boast. Having a top size at least two dress sizes bigger than your bottom half is no picnic. Clothes don't fit, I can never wear anything without a seriously hard working bra underneath. I forgot to take the right bra to Douglas and Fiona's wedding and I'm still getting over the horror of having my bra show all day.

But all of that inconvience pales when you compare pre pregnancy boobs to these monsters.

You're not supposed to wear underwired bras when you're pregnant I believe but even if I could find a non underwired, supportive bra I wanted to wear, they literally do not exist in my cup size. Which, by the way, is edging closer to the second half of the alphabet on a daily basis it seems.

I'm currently sporting a sports bra (no wires) with a bra extender - an extra bit if you will - because my ribs are expanding on a daily basis and the bras I bought ten weeks ago are laughably small - like they were made for a Borrower.

I have dry patches of skin on my boobs even though they haven't been near a nursling in nearly two years - thanks pregnancy. Weird roadmap veins also feature prominently.

But nothing compares to my experience on trying to buy nursing bras just before I had Brodie. I dutifully went along to my fitter's appointment at a department store. John Lewis, Edinburgh I'm looking at you. I left Greig in the chairs outside the fitting room and waddled my way into the cubicle behind the kindly lady who was going to fit me out. Only when I disrobed she cried in disbelief

'Oh my, I'm not sure we'll have much big enough for THOSE'

And then she shouted to all her colleagues on the intimate apparel floor - 'Do we have anything in a K cup?'

I think at that point I had to sit down with my head between my knees in order to avoid passing out. The shame of being shouted about across the whole of JL coupled with the recently aquired knowledge that K cup bras exist was too much.

I did leave with the bra, the only one which could be found presumably in a box marked 'freak show' somewhere in the dusty attic stockroom. Poor Greig had to try and console my ugly cry all the way home, sobbing with hiccups.

It was with some satisfaction that a week later I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy who turned out to be a few ounces less than the national average in contrast to the bra fitter's exclamations and promise that the baby I was carrying in my swollen belly was bound to be 'enormous' because 'look at the size of you'. Sob, hiccup.

To be fair my boobs did eventually shrink back to their pre pregnancy size although not the same ahem texture? But nursing bras for a year was hard work both times. Ugly, unappealing and not exactly comfortable.

I remember being delighted when a friend told me that by the time her baby was a few months old she was able to wear her old bras again and just hiked then up when the babe needed fed. That sounds good I thought.

Only she has normal size boobs and presumably wears normal bras not the highly engineered versions which support those of us with larger boobs. Trying to hike one of those up results in pain and discomfort for all of involved. I'd be as well trying to fit the baby IN the bra, that might be within the realms of possibility.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, I can't believe I've just written a whole blog post about boobs.