The average bra size in America is somewhere between a 34B and 36C. In fact 72% of ladies fall within the B/C cup realm.
I was complaining the other night that the underwire on my 34D bra was entrenched between my ever expanding belly and my enormous pregnancy rack. It’s pretty much the pregnancy equivalent of wearing too tight pants that make you fart.
Twitter suggested I get thee hence to Nordstrom for a proper fitting, so last night I did just that. As soon as I took off my shirt so I could be measured, I heard “Oh honey, what is this a C cup?”
“It’s…it’s a D.”
“Oh honey, that D is tired.”
She measured, poked, prodded, asked about my underwear and went out to gather up some possibilities.
She came back with a pink lacy bra that could have easily caught fallen trapeze artists at the circus and slingshot them back up to their starting point.
I’ll admit, once it was on it looked nothing like my old bra. Instead of cleavage coming up to my chin I had two perfectly lifted and separated ladies. (I also admitted in the dressing room that my ladies are named, Mildred and Unis, apparently it’s not normal to name them, or at least if people do they don’t admit it while a stranger straps them into a couple of pink shopping bags.)
I took a deep breath to look at the price…Nordstrom isn’t exactly the cheapest place to buy bras, but damn they know their stuff.
When I looked at the tag I didn’t see dollar signs. I saw five different sizes in five different languages.
All of them proclaiming me to be so far past average I had entered the porn star realm of chest sizes.
Suddenly I could hear a faint but distinct cheer from the children’s section where Cody was patiently waiting with Addie.
I had completely skipped several letters of the alphabet, while my band size stayed the same. When I let out a horrified gasp my fitter said “Oh honey, you’re not even done either, just wait until you come back for your nursing bras.”
The “Oh, honeys” really took the edge off, it was as if she were standing there staring at my 39″ belly, my giant fun bags and sending out a sincere “bless your heart” to my back.
She brought in more bras to try but the hilarity of their enormousness overtook me and I had to get out.
The one I bought fits on my head like a strange little Lycra helmet.
Addie woke up at 5 am today to play with a new Barbie that Tiny Gramma had given her. Shortly after I got Addie back in bed with threats of Barbies sleeping with the fishes when played with at 5 am I crawled back into my own bed to a sleepy cheer, apparently Cody was excited about his new toys too.
I fell back asleep attempting to appreciate my newest blessings as much as my darling husband and I came up with a few bonuses.
- Cody now has two pillow pets, whereas Addie still only has one. (Don’t tell her though please.)
- When this pregnancy is over and they’re back to their deflated belly button skimming position, I’ll have an excellent reusable cantaloupe/honeydew/pumpkin/watermelon carrying bag.
- Maybe this time they’ll work for the purpose Mozzi requires of them, they never did work with Addie, more on that one later.
- The more I have in front the smaller I look in the back (optical illusions!)
- Given gravity, the amount of time I spend horizontal is only doing my ladies (and my back) giant exponential favors.
- Cleavage is natures pocket for when you don’t want to carry a purse. My pocket has been upgraded to a mid size SUV.
Alli has been demanding that I be pushed around the Opryland Hotel (compound) in a wheelchair this week at the Blissdom conference. My pride says “NO WAY ARE WE BEING PUT IN A WHEELCHAIR!” However everything below my neck says “SCREW YOUR PRIDE AND SIT YOUR BUTT DOWN.”
And right now I can tell you that my boobs alone are bigger than my pride.
(look! me upright (wishing I weren’t) speaking at the monthly Social Media Club meeting in Indianapolis! photo by Joe.)
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