It’s no secret that new mommies come with new curves. But somehow it never is anything but shocking when it happens to you. One morning a few days after giving birth you wake up and you look like you could be a B-list porn star.
It’s totally weird–and a bit painful–at first. My body had totally outgrown my expectations; one day I found myself standing in front of the nursing bra selection at Target hardly believing that I could actually be searching for a D cup. (Incidentally, a 34D might be the hardest size to find on a rack. I’m not sure if its because its a popular size or a freak size, but I’ve been in four Targets and found only two bras in that flavor.) I couldn’t believe I’d reached that far into the alphabet.
But then things sort of feel like they’re under control. There’s no pain and no tightness or fullness. I was once again comfortable in my own skin–so comfortable in fact that I sort of assumed I had shrunk a half a cup size or so.
All I needed to remind me that I was dead wrong was to try on a bathing suit.
But I was feeling good enough, or rather the weather was just hot enough–it was nearing 90 degrees over the holiday weekend–that I thought maybe I’d expose my pale flab-flesh to the sun in the name of cooling off.
Well, if I thought my nursing boobs were big, trying on bikini tops confirmed they were giant. Now, I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but in this case the more that I had wasn’t exactly better. I tried on one top after another–I had five bathing suits on hand and then I tried one of my sister’s–only to get more and more disappointed.
If I wasn’t falling out the top, I was hanging out the bottom. Bandeau tops looked like a strip of electrical tape across my chest. Triangle tops screamed bad boob job. V-necklines were a little too plunging. There was no way I was going out in public wearing any of that; it would be horrifying to children and small animals.
I needed a solution or I was going to miss out on one of the best boating weekends of the summer.
I had a sports bra in hand as my last best option–the big, thick tan lines that I’d undoubtedly end up were not exactly appealing but neither was the possibility of being ticketed for indecent exposure–when I had an idea. Maybe one of my nursing tank tops might be able to do double duty. After all, it was hot pink and matched a set of bathing suit bottoms that I seemed to still be able to wear. So, it was settled. Nursing tank meet bathing suit and voila! I had a tankini.
Most people would probably tell me to just enjoy my new-found–and hard to miss–curves. I mean, from padded push-ups to surgical enhancement, lots of women shell out beaucoup bucks to end up with this kind of rack. But it’s hard to feel like me when I feel like I’ve got twins on a trampoline on my chest. I guess the whole swimsuit session was a reminder that even though I’m feeling pretty back to normal, my body’s still got a mind of its own.