Don’t get me wrong, I mean, it’s worth it and I’m glad to be pregnant and all of that, but these past few weeks have not been a cake walk.
But I have found my first trimester silver lining. Pregnancy boobs.
I have always been very small chested even though I come from a family of well endowed women. My sister is only 2 and a half years older than me and she has always been 2 cups sizes bigger. My cousins, aunts, and pretty much every female I share any DNA with, aside from my 7 year old cousin, is better off in the chest department than I am. And while I have come to terms with my small bust, I have always been a little jealous of the women around me.
I have long wondered what it would be like to own a bra that didn’t have the scarlet letter A on the tag. Or to wear a sports bra that didn’t come from a kids section. You think I’m joking, but you are wrong. Even when I was quite substantially heavier, I was still just a measly A cup. I have never known what it’s like to be anything larger.
But that was before the wonder of hormones.
I noticed within the first and second weeks of pregnancy that things were changing. I mean besides my boobs being unbearably sore, for the first time ever, my bra was actually kind of snug. And the sports bras that I usually wear around when I’m not at work were comically small. They actually looked like they were from the kids department.
And so today, I went bra shopping. I let the women at Victoria Secret size me and though I walked in wearing a 34A, they sized me as a 34D. What the what?!
I had brought a 34B and 34C with me into the dressing room and found that the B was way too small. Like, almost obscene. And the C actually fit. Like a glove. I think I stood in the dressing room for an extra two or three minutes just checking myself out. I mean, this is a whole new world.
The bra sizer lady made me try on a D and while I expected it to be enormous, it was actually only ever so slightly too big. I probably could’ve gotten away with buying it, but I decided not to be greedy and just go with the C. If they continue to grow we can revisit the D next time. But for today, I purchased my first non-A cup bra. Ever.
In two months I’ve gone from an A cup to a C. I’m not saying that the nausea and the exhaustion and the bloating have really been worth the boobs, but I’m not going to pretend like I’m not enjoying them in the meantime.