A Stroll Down Mammary Lane

Warning: This post will discuss my breasts. If you are uncomfortable with that, skip this one! (Dad, this especially means you.)

Pregnancy has surprised me in many ways in terms of its effects on my body. In your pre-pregnancy days, no one bothers to tell you that it's normal to be very constipated most of the time, or that when the baby punches you in the cervix it hurts like the dickens. And who really wants to mention that in the last half of pregnancy it's difficult to laugh, sneeze or cough without wetting your pants? It's not the sort of thing that comes up in polite company. So there have been many surprises along the way. But the one thing that has surprised me the most is the change in my breasts.

I expected them to get a little bigger, but I was completely unprepared for what "a little bigger" would actually mean. I've always been diminutive in the chest area, and very happy that way. There's so much freedom in being small breasted; I could go anywhere without a bra with no problem, I looked delightfully perky in any bathing suit, it didn't hurt to run, and basically they just never got in my way like some of my more buxom friends described.

Fast forward to my second month of pregnancy. In a matter of about two weeks (although it felt like two minutes) I grew from a cute 34 B to a voluptuous and heavy 36 DD. Now, at 34 weeks, I've far surpassed that measurement. (I'd tell you what it is now, but it doesn't matter, it will change in about 5 minutes anyway.) I'd be lying if I said that Eric was upset about this. He sees it as a merciful God's compensation for having to put up with my mood swings.

My reaction hasn't been quite as enthusiastic. Between my chest and my belly, I've never been so front-heavy in my life, which has caused me a lot of back pain. It's hard to find bras in the right size, and the ones to be found are not very cute. No little lacy push-ups for me; we're talking heavy duty industrial strength hammocks. Also, it turns out that growing several cup sizes in a short amount of time can cause stretch marks. I don't have a single stretch mark on my belly but my new bazongas are covered with them. They've faded a bit in the last couple of weeks, which is good, although I shouldn't really care. Eric doesn't mind, and he's the only one who sees them; I'm pretty sure I won't be starting a career in topless dancing any time soon.

So to sum up, having huge pregnant breasts is at best a mixed blessing, at least for the one who has to carry them around.