Boobs of doom ATTACK! Another overshare.

(Note: if you are my mother, please stop reading now. Same goes for anyone not comfortable reading things I would not say in front of my mother! I AM ABOUT TO TALK ABOUT MY BOOBS NOW.)

So: my boobs!

The first place I gain weight is in my breasts; the second, is around my cheeks and jaw. However, while I also lose weight from my cheeks and jaw when my weight fluctuates, my breasts never shrink. They only get bigger. And bigger.

My mental picture of myself, half the time, is still stuck at the day when I realized my breasts were exactly the same size as my fists. Nowadays, that’s a laughable comparison. It takes two hands, spread out, to try to cover one breast, and that doesn’t even really encompass the whole thing. When I walk around my apartment braless (as I am wont to do), I find myself instinctively holding them, one in each hand, to offset the jiggle.

But I don’t really expect them to be the same size as they were when I was, like, thirteen. No, I’m writing this post because of a newer paradigm shift: just a few days ago, I put on one of my demi-cup bras (rather than a full-coverage one), looked down at my chest, and asked my breasts, “What the hell?”

Because, you see, they did not fit! There was the dainty bit of bra, and then mountains of boobage hanging out the top! There was no way I could wear it in public, or half my other bras. But I hate bra shopping! I thought to myself. But I grumbled and mentally prepared to get something bigger. This is the last time, you guys, I thought angrily at my chest, but oh, if they could, they would have laughed at me in return.

Because yesterday, I came to a truly stunning realization.

I was talking to my mom. “They just keep getting bigger!” I told her. “I thought they were done!”

She nodded and expressed agreement, and I looked at her, as one does in a conversation. And I noticed her breasts. I’d never really looked before, what with her being, you know, my mum, but my mother has enormous breasts.

I am going to have enormous breasts.

Somehow, throughout my entire life, I have known that my mother is well-endowed, that I look like my mother almost identically (and like her mother before her), and that genes, you know, exist, and yet I had never made the connection before that I am going to look like her.

I’ve been looking at my breasts strangely all day, trying to picture my/their future. Suddenly my complaints about booburban sprawl seemed insignificant. But at least now I know where I’m headed: a veritable boobpocalypse.


8 Responses to Boobs of doom ATTACK! Another overshare.

  1. Jezebella says:

    I feel your pain, believe me. Get this: my 66-year-old mother got a reduction last year. Now she has smaller, perkier tits than I do. It’s entirely annoying.

  2. Mary Sue says:

    On the plus side, you’ve made me feel great about my almost-A cups. 😀

  3. yinyang says:

    Oh, crap, Mary Sue is me. It’s from a WordPress account I’ve been messing around with for fun.

    But, yeah: my small boobs are awesome. Although part of that has to do with the fact that they allow me to dodge some bad sexism, like not being automatically and constantly sexualized.

  4. dirtyrose says:

    I’ve always wished that I had slightly bigger breasts, but now I think I’ll stick with my (trust me, very modest) 32B’s.

    Was that TMI? Oh well.

  5. eloriane says:

    The thing is, I loved my little fistfuls of boobs when they were small, and I love my breasts as they are now, and I’m sure that I’ll still love them when they are larger than my head (which is, by the way, the size I am apparently headed for. gulp!) It’s just the realization that my body as I think of it is not going to be the same as my actual body for the rest of my life. But I guess that’s true of aging in general– someday, I’ll be gray-haired and wrinkly and who knows how I will change. This is just the first time that I’m being confronted with my aggressive body-acceptance and changes in my body at the same time. During puberty and so on, I only had one! (Can you guess which??)

    But that’s enough about me. Thanks for hopping in on this to add your own stories. The post has “an overshare” in the title– posts like this exist so that more people will talk about their boobs! (Or their periods, or their frustration with periods, or whatever it is that we ought to share.)

    Well, and so I can use the phrase “booburban sprawl,” but, you know. Puns are important too.

  6. Jo says:

    I suppose booburban sprawl is better than subbooban sprawl, which is just a weird thought.

    I didn’t get ZOMG BOOBIES until I had a kid. Now, I too have my mother’s breasts.

    I have to say, though, that I kind of like them now. While they were growing, not so much, but now, after breastfeeding, they seem the right size. Maybe that’s just body acceptance talking, but hey. I’m happy. ^_^

    • Crowfoot says:

      I don’t know where I got my large breasts from – certainly not my slender little mother. I’ve always hated them though – clothes don’t fit well, running is uncomfortable, back gets sore, and men leer and leer and leer >:O Especially when I was 14! creepy freakin assholes. I ended up getting a reduction in my early 20s, and while I’m critical of the process from a feminist perspective (we should not feel the need to surgically alter our bodies for beauty reasons or because men can’t stop being sexist douchehounds!) I’m still rather glad I did it 😦 . Although sad that I felt the need to. Of course, a good part of the decision was the physical side, and not just the reaction of others, but those reactions were really troubling.

      I’ve always had body issues (apart from this brief moment in my tween years when I was horseback riding like crazy), and now that I’ve gained a large amount of weight thanks to my thyroid going south I struggle even more. It’s hard to accept my size, even though I’ve gained the weight really evenly all over my body (which makes it easier to find clothes and looks less “fat”). I’ve been a size 12 my whole life and my current body just doesn’t match up to what I feel I look like. I imagine my mind will eventually catch up to my present, unless I lose the weight I’ve gained in the past 6 years.

      And hell yeah to the hating on bra shopping! it wouldn’t be so bad if there were 1) some freaking consistency in the sizes and 2) they had larger sizes. Everything that hangs on racks seems to stop at a 38DD if one is lucky – and I’m pretty sure my correct size is a damned site larger. I’ve never been properly fitted so who knows how a proper size will feel? I cram them into whatever seems most comfortable and least likely to result in that double-breast look.

  7. Jo says:

    I don’t bra shop unless my mother talks me into it. I’m much more comfortable sans bra than with anything underwire, and comfy cotton bras seem to stop at about 38C, which I haven’t been for quite some time.

    I’m about ready to just wear tank tops and/or shelf bra tops when I want a bra and call it good. Even stuff that’s supposedly fitted to me feels bad, so I might as well feel good.

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