As it turns out . . .

Disclaimer: To all of our sensitive blog followers who might not like to read about my hooters, now would be a good time to stop reading this post.

So as it turns out, I really didn’t want bigger boobs. It’s not like I had miniature melons or anything – my 34 B’s were perfectly good. But it seems like we always think bigger is better. Well, thanks to the miracle of breastfeeding, I now have the long-sought-after bigger boobs and I’ve decided they aren’t all that.

All of my shirts, especially those button-down kind which would nicely hide my slightly rounder post-pregnancy belly, are too tight in the cha-chas. And that safety pin I once used to politely smooth that gap between buttons (a problem that you’d think the fashion designers could have solved by now) didn’t stand a chance! That thing popped open so fast I imagined certain death from a pin-prick to my heart!

My sympathy also now goes out to all those naturally-well-endowed women who rightfully hate jogging. There is not a sports bra in the world that makes it comfortable.

To top it off, my friends are telling me that once I stop breastfeeding, the twins will not only lose their once-beloved perkiness, they’ll be smaller than they were before. Smaller. How does that even make sense?

Finally, for my husband who probably thought, “Sweet, the funbags are bigger!” - forget it. Just when he thought Christmas came early, he’s not allowed to touch the new toys because they’re “working boobs” now.

So to my new-but-temporary bigger boobs: thanks for nothing.

--Anita