The ups and downs of breasts

Looking backwards I can’t remember exactly when my chest began to develop. If I consider when I began to get genuine attention from males, I could probably carbon date it to somewhere around the age of 13 or so. It was right around the time I ran into my mother in town and she told me it was time to wear a bra. Puberty is so damn awkward.

For years my breasts were my not-so-secret weapon. Unbuttoning an extra button gave me power. They were an accessory to be considered when I shopped for clothing and got dressed. Would they fit decently into a halter or a flimsy top? Wrangling them could be a challenge at times, particularly during the years when my weight was at its highest and I was sporting a bra size that exceeded my age with a cup that had moved into double letter territory.

The consolation, of course, was that my breasts had grown into something more than mere evidence of my femininity – they were now a source of sustenance for my children. I spent a combined nearly 4 years nursing my babies, truly one of the greatest feats of the human body, in my opinion. I still miss those days all these years later.

About 5 years ago I lost a substantial amount of weight.  I can’t say exactly how much, because I wasn’t recording my weight and the number of pounds wasn’t really on my radar.  I can say that my wardrobe took a huge hit as more and more of my clothing no longer fit.  As I began to shop and rebuild my closet, I couldn’t help but notice that the shape of my body had changed dramatically.  I now had entirely different options with regards to clothing since I was now sporting a significantly smaller rack.  Sundresses worn without a bra became an option for the first time in decades.  Pretty underthings were suddenly a possibility and running no longer felt like an exercise in containment with regards to my chest.   There was a new freedom and I loved it. But…

Sometimes when I am layering up with Under Armour in advance of a run, I can’t help but notice that my chest looks downright flat.  I know it is, in part, the compression from multiple layers of Lycra, but it still leaves me feeling almost as if I’ve returned to my pre-pubescent state.  I’m okay with that.  Bodacious was fun but not bouncing is even better.

 

 

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Filed under aging, musings, Random

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