A few days ago I went bra shopping for the first time in years. I’ve been breastfeeding for close to three years straight (due to having 2 kids in a year-and-a-half) and I’ve been living with breastfeeding tanks and stretched out maternity wear for too long.
Living with two boys and one man has got me thinking about the power of feminity and I realized that it meant something that I’ve been slouching around in these stretched out over-the-shoulder- boulder holders for years without a thought to my body except: untuck, unroll, pull out, drop down, smoosh back, and hang loose. And then I considered the state of my underwear.
So I took a Facebook poll about where to go shopping and found out a whole bunch of shit I didn’t like.
Quality made bra’s easily cost $70. Bra’s for big tata’s cost even more. Most bra’s come with underwire. Bras are lacy.
I’ve never been a lingerie gal. I don’t get it. A G-string on me looks like a thread slid between an apple fritter and instead of a push-up water bra I’d much rather you do me with my T-shirt on so we can get back to Netflicks.
So, I found myself at the Bay (for my US friends, think Target). They gave me a proper fitting and I was informed that I wasn’t a C cup like I used to be, or even a DD, in fact, since I’d had my kids I’d grown to a GG.
This made my options a lot less. She showed me the two bras they carried that I might be able fit into. They looked like bandages for a war hero.
I asked her to show me some underwear options that were 100% cotton and she said “you mean the old lady section?”
Yes. I guess that’s what I meant.
So I left, with panties that cover my belly button and a few bras that cost $30 each and will protect me when the fighting robots come.
And I feel comfortable. When I got home my husband asked “does your back hurt less?” and that was the sexiest thing I’d heard all week.