What am I going to do with these puppies? No, I’m not talking about my pets – I’m talking about my breasts. I swear they’ve grown in size … again! Just last year, after reading an interesting article relating to the fact that the majority of women wear the wrong bra size, I decided to have my bust measurements taken. I was literally gob-smacked: I was no longer a modest size 36 B, but rather an intimidating size 36 D. I was convinced the spaced-out shop attendant had gotten it all wrong. So I marched off to a lingerie boutique to have my measurements taken again. This time, when she told me I was a 36 D, I had to face the truth: I’ve hit the thirties buffet.
It’s my own personal term for when a woman has completely lost that girly body in preparation for babies. Whether a woman wants to have a child or not, we cannot flip Mother Nature the bird. With or without our consent, our bodies will become more curvaceous in celebration of that fantastic phenomenon called “fertility”.
I can lament forever on the fact that I was a lanky size eight in my early to mid twenties, but alas, those days are a distant, rather pleasant, memory. In my frank opinion – and trust me, I have lots of opinions – the stereotypical woman has several milestones in body shape changes. The first significant change is at the age of 25 when the child bearing hips first make their debut. The second significant change comes at the age of thirty. Let’s not even go near the topic of cellulite, stretch marks and the rest of the goodie bag that comes with this landmark!
Now, as I’m sitting at the mid-thirty mark, my dimensions have taken on more of an hourglass formation, and my breasts have joined the party and upped the stakes. After last year’s growth spurge, I think the girls are planning a coup. This morning, while dressing for work, my husband lay in bed transfixed by them. “Wow, they’re massive” he exclaimed as I shouldered my boulders and coaxed them into a bra.
“Please, oh please”, I’m silently praying, “Let them not be a double-D”. Surely I need something to look forward to as I hurtle towards the next marker: the big scary 40?