They came out of nowhere. I was in no way expecting them. Just woke up one morning and boom baby! There they were. I had porn star boobs. Like someone sprinkled Miracle Grow on my chest.
I always just assumed I’d breastfeed my babies. The truth is, I never thought about it, never questioned or considered that there could be another option. I knew formula was available and as a frequent babysitter had mixed and given quite a few bottles myself. But it just seemed, well, natural that I would breastfeed. I knew very little about breastfeeding other than “breast is best” and my mom enjoyed nursing my sibs and I and I knew that I would do it myself. I kind of figured that you have a baby and that triggers the faucet and voila! Milk!
So when I got pregnant I had zero idea of the changes that were coming. I understood certain changes related to pregnancy, thought I looked forward to morning sickness (HA!), the glowing skin, knew to expect swollen ankles, odd cravings and a host of other almost cute changes indicative of the growing life within me. What I was unprepared for though, among other things, were the boobs. Upon getting the two lines on the stick I peed on I started imagining myself with a round belly and cute maternity tops, anticipating the attention I’d receive as a woman heavy with child. I thought I couldn’t wait to go shopping for new clothes to accommodate my earth mother figure.
Within a few weeks, however, I had a tummy flatter than a pancake sporting an almost 6 pack thanks to the vomiting sessions and the 10+ pound weight loss. True, I did need new clothes but not because of my growing belly but rather because of the giant melons that now occupied the space on my chest where my little A cup, Hershey Kiss breasts had been. I’m telling you, Miracle Grow. Thinking it would be a while before I couldn’t see my feet, I was shocked to discover that the sore growths on my chest already obstructed the view. The Piano Man only once casually mentioned my increased chest size and then only when I complained about my bras not fitting and he suggested I go shopping, acknowledging that maybe they were a little bigger. I cried.
I marveled at the candy stripped appearance of my boobs as bright red stretch marks streaked the once smooth, even skin. I worried my husband would think me less attractive, what with my constant puke breath and neon sign striped boobs but he assured me I was still beautiful, greasy hair, puke breath and red magic marker streaked breasts and all. Smart man. Thinking he and I were the only ones that noticed my newly acquired body parts I tried not to let them bother me and go about my business, puking and pretending I didn’t have breasts nearly hitting my chin and keeping my arms from resting flat against my sides. But we weren’t the only ones aware, oh no, not at all. The 6 year old boy I babysat noticed and he finally couldn’t help himself, he asked me where those things on my chest came from. He totally did say “those things.” Scarlet, head to toe. I could feel my cheeks burning. They were still burning minutes later when, not getting anything but a blushing response from me, he took off to go play. But I caught him, more than once, staring at them. Seriously though, I was weighing in at 93 pounds with D cups, how could he not? I couldn’t help but stare at them myself sometimes and I legitimately did worry they were going to cause me to topple over.
When we finally started telling people we were expecting most of them told us they already figured it out, between the puking and all. The “and all” meant my newly found rack. Ok, fine, pretend you don’t notice them, we can just ignore the elephant tits in the room. Only one other person said anything: our gay best friend. I knew it was bad then. I really was just a pair of pasties away from looking like a stripper. My cup over-floweth had a totally new meaning to me, an uncomfortable, awkward, knockers meaning. I couldn’t wait for my belly to at least catch up with my bosom. My very ample bosom. The belly did catch up, finally, very near then end and I was relieved. There was a nice little shelf between my breasts and my belly and I was finally earth mother. I loved my curves, they were beautiful.
Then Earth Baby was born. Watermelons. Watermelons that shot milk when I sneezed, Earth Baby cried, I made chocolate milk (from cows), slept, had sex, thought about having sex, thought about Earth Baby or went out in public. Porn star cow boobs in nursing bras. And I still couldn’t see my feet. Miracle Grow for boobs, it must have been a whole bottle of the stuff.