I am boob obsessed lately.
I didn’t even realize it was happening until I took another look at this post from last week and then considered how much I’ve been thinking about boobs in the last while. No, not because I’m fantasizing about boobs, guys. I’m fixating on them. There’s a big difference.
And I’m fixating on them because mine got small and I feel weird about it.
Okay, okay, “small” is a relative term. I haven’t had “small” boobs since I was like, 11.* But a year ago, I had boobs. They were almost hard to contain sometimes, that’s how abundant and cleavage-y they were. Like this:
Nowadays, I feel like they’re barely even there. Like this:
I made an active decision when I started to lose significant amounts of weight to celebrate all of the pant sizes I’ve lost and ignore the cup sizes I’ve lost along with them, but it’s been a weird transition.
I was getting dressed up for a Christmas party this weekend and I couldn’t find anything that fit right. My body shape has changed so much I’m not even sure what to look for sometimes when I’m putting on some of my older clothes. Like, where did the top half of my hourglass go? When I finally found a dress that I thought looked good, I had to change my bra to work with it and I discovered, much to my chagrin, that even the bras that were in my “smaller, so they’ll fit for a long while yet” pile are much too big now. Like my boobs get lost in them big. They’re floating around somewhere and the cups are just like, “Hey, what’s up? We’re holding up the fort whether you’re in there or not.”**
Here’s the thing: I’ve always kind of been jealous of girls with smaller breasts. Growing up, I found mine to be such a hindrance. Kids at school would make fun of them, even though the other junior high girls would buy excessively padded bras to try to look as big. It made no sense (see: kids are stupid). It was harder to find tops and dresses that fit well and I always had to wear the un-sexy, wide-strapped bras that I could only buy at a couple stores in town for much more money than my small-breasted friends, who could rock sexy La Senza and Victoria’s Secret, or hey, just go without a bra with all their backless tops during the summer. My friends would tell me they wished they had my bust, and I’d say, “Ha! You can take ’em!”
I held the C-cup as the ideal size in my mind. I dreamed of just having C’s so that I wouldn’t have to worry either way. Life would be perfect with a C-cup.
Now I’m almost at a C-cup and I feel confused, and less sexy? Less womanly? I don’t really know what my problem is. I don’t think sexiness is reliant on breast size and I never have. I never walked around feeling particularly sexy anyway, so I don’t think that’s my issue. Is it the change? The who-is-that-in-the-mirror feeling that follows me around? The how-do-I-dress-this-up-now worry?
And what if I just always thought that I wasn’t connecting large breasts to sexiness, but I actually was? Then what? And how do I reconcile that with not thinking it makes any difference on other women? Am I holding myself up to some weird double standard?
And WHO THE HELL AM I ANYWAY?***
Lesson learned: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?
I don’t know, I can’t figure this out because my boobs got small and apparently that’s where I kept my brain and sense of reason.
P.S. Look, bottom line is this is a 365-day project, so you’re just going to have to deal with my PMS posts, all right? I would apologize or something, but it’s my blog and nobody reads it anyway, so whatever.
P.P.S. Did I just write a blog post all about my breast size for anyone and everyone in the world to see? Yes, yes I did. I’m gonna feel weird about it later, too.
*That’s not a slight at anyone with small boobs. I hate (see: love) all you ladies who can rock sexy halter tops and flowy dresses without bras. Damn you.
**All puns intended, obviously.
***Settle down, that one was for dramatic effect.