If you are family, stop reading immediately. Like, seriously. You might get grossed out. I don’t just say the word vagina, I talk about my boobs, and unless you want that image in your head, go read about Atticus or something cute about puppies here.
Now that that is out of the way, let’s get down to the nitty gritty or should I say the titty gritty, and try to be punny?
Two years ago I was a mother to a newborn, and sex was the farthest thing from my mind as my vagina ached from birthing said newborn, my breasts were engorged and sore, and the date of my last shower was questionable. Fast forward another three months, and not much had changed. Again, fast forward nine months and there was far less aching, but my new found boulder boobs left me quite perplexed, and honestly may have scared my husband a bit.
You see, I was formerly a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. I could have easily been the treasurer, if not president if I wasn’t too preoccupied with trying to fit my “A” cup into a push up bra with enough padding to make a memory foam mattress jealous.
Despite the illusion that comes inside a pink striped bag from Victoria Secret, my husband appreciated my smaller assets, and now that my chest was equipped with 32DD/E torpedo’s that could squirt milk spontaneously into his eye or hair or cereal bowl, he was probably; and rightfully scared of my breasts.
Heck, I was too. My let down was so fierce it sounded like a sprinkler system was going off, and the amount of breast pads I went through were proof, that they worked just fine.
If they didn’t do such an amazing job nourishing my son, and me making it very clear that I was a PROUD BREASTFEEDING MOTHER, I would have probably been accused more often of altering my chest with some new friends called; silicone and saline.
This is where I should add a photo of my buxom bosom, but instead, I will let my fellow blog sister, Alyssa, vouch for their shear size. They were gigantic.
After 19 months of nursing, Atticus decided he was through. He was over it, and deep down, as much as I wanted to nurse my two year old on his birthday and have a weaning ceremony when he understood what was going on, I was glad it was over. His weaning was on his terms and that is exactly what I had always wanted.
Over the course of a month, my bulging breasts shrank. They shrank so much that I was honestly concerned that I would be a negative “A.” Then they stopped shrinking and my lefty was a C and my righty was an A. Wtf. Really?
Gradually things petered out; and the girls settled on a 34B. Slightly larger than pre-pregnancy, but not by much. They were oddly, still perky. Even though they have a softness to them that wasn’t there before, that softness serves as a reminder that they nourished a little boy as long as he desired.
Often times when I used to sit and nurse Atticus, I would wonder when I would get my boobs back? During our nursing relationship; my breasts were not Kevin’s, they were not mine, they were my sons. Looking back on it, I understand why other modern mothers could feel awkward nursing a child from a part of them; because that part suddenly, in a blink of an eye, is now completely reinterpreted in use, and in functionality. They are no longer used for oggoling or for pleasure, they are used for nourishment.
While this new found versatility of breast, did not bother me, I understand how it could bother others, and I want you to know, that one day, your breasts will be yours again. The amount of time that they belong to another being is so minuscule in the big picture. Don’t rush it, they will be yours again someday.
My name is Xza, and I got my boobs back! Not quite how i expected, but after nearly three years of pregnancy and nursing, mama got her boobs back, and I want you to know, that you will too… One day.