Last month when my friend complimented me that I looked thin, she followed it up by saying I had no breasts. (Yes, she really did.) I replied that I NEVER had any! The reality is that I have always been a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.
When I was a pre-teen, I remember stuffing a hand-me-down underwire bikini top with socks and dancing in front of my mirror, admiring my image. I am sure that I imagined someday I would have the actually breasts to fill out that top. But that day never materialized. And a few years later, when it seemed obvious that I would be forever under-endowed, I asked my dad if it ever bothered him that my mom was small chested. He was the first person to utter the expression to me – “more than a handful is wasteful”. Yes, it came from my dad first.
In college, I didn’t so much mind my little breasts because they were at least perky. Bigger would have been better, but perky was okay. At least they nicely filled out a lacy A cup. Then my best friend came home freshman year having miraculously (and naturally) gained several inches in the bust. I waited for my own lottery win. But it never happened. So I went on with life, relatively content with small and pert.
When I was pregnant, I knew my day had finally come. With pregnancy would come generous mammary tissue. But no. Not to me. All belly, no boobs. Until my sons were born and my milk came in and finally I had the bountiful breasts of my dreams. C cup! Woo hoo. But they didn’t belong to me… they belonged to my kids. (Hands off hubby.) And then the inevitable followed: stretched out breast-feeding boobage combined with gravity. I sadly learned that even tiny boobs can sag. Where was the perkiness? Gone forever. Along with my measly never-to-be-filled-again A cup.
I have heard many women complain about the difficulties in shopping for a large sized bra. I have a different challenge. It seems bra manufacturers don’t think flat chested women need bras. Or if we do, then surely we want ones that stick out unnaturally from our chest thanks to padding and more padding. So as a result, most days I go without. But some clothes require a bra and in them I just want to look like my (flat) self, not some strange suddenly boobed version. I imagine my acquaintances wondering if I got an overnight augmentation. Then reduction. Then augmentation again. Nope – I just want to look like myself.
My dear friend and former diet/exercise buddy is very, very well endowed. Very. She and I got a lot of mileage and laughs out of our differences. We often joked that if only we could take some of her excess and give it to me, we’d both be perfect. I still think of her as my “bosom buddy.” There we would be, working out together: she struggling to contain the jiggle with a sports bra that provided enough support and a reasonable amount of comfort; me trying to even find a sports bra to fit. Because even itty bitty titties jiggle when you work out. The girls need a little support now and again.
Do I wish I had bigger breasts? Sure, I do. But not enough to do anything about it. I have accepted this little (pun intended) imperfection that is out of my control and try not to be overly frustrated when it makes shopping difficult. Darts down the front of a dress – forget it! Low cut V neck… not for me. Swimsuit tops that fit… challenge of the century. Some days I wonder what life would be like with cleavage. Or a clingy T-shirt. But most days I am glad that I don’t have back pain or nipples that reach even further south than mine do now. And I am glad that I married an “ass man”. Because in that area I am very well endowed indeed:)
Meanwhile, I patiently wait. Because my mom tells me that menopause has some advantages… like bigger boobs! She was right about the widening middle-age waist, so maybe my bodacious ta-tas are just a few years away. And if not, that’s okay too. I’m saving a fortune on bras!