Bee Stings, Fairy pillows, Mosquito bites….do you know what I’m talking about. Let me spell it out.
I wanted to do a post about small breasts because I have them. All cup size 36AA of them. The pressure to make them bigger has haunted me ever since I was about 14 years old and to be quite frank, it hasn’t gone away.
I have had a 100 nasty comments about my small boobs over the years. Both ex boyfriends said something during and after our relationship about them (nice!) and random people have felt it necessary to point them out. So depressing it had been to buy swimming costumes that didn’t make me look like a child, I had one two piece swimming costume once, that I felt good in, so when it started to fall apart I took it to a specialist swimwear maker to see if they could make one for me exactly the same. So I talked them through it, popped into the changing room and the girl came in to measure me and said “oh my goodness, they are small aren’t they?” Yeah — cheers for that. Needless to say, I have NEVER been professionally measured since. I’d rather spend £1000 buying the wrong size than be humiliated like that. Oh, and of course I can’t buy from an actual shop anyway. I have to buy bras online from shops such as “Little Women”.
You see, people seem to think that I must be so lucky that I don’t have to wear a bra. Where as I see it as I MUST wear a bra. I would NEVER EVER EVER not wear a bra. If I could get away with it under my pyjamas, I would. Who the hell wants to look like a 10-year-old girl in a high-powered meeting with clients. Of course I need to wear a bra. Tiny protruding nipples, a stomach that sticks out more?? No. I shall buy a padded bra and attempt to look vaguely normal thank you very much. With one of these, I still look small breasted, I don’t look like a freak who missed adolescence.
I always had hope you see. My mum appeared to have lovely biggish boobs and they seem to have come along later on in life, so I thought it was only a matter of time, a bit of weight, a baby and perhaps mine would grow. You can imagine my surprise, aged 26 whilst in back in Perth with my mother critical ill,when a doctor came in to the room with her chest x-ray asking if she had fake boobs. Cue my dad looking at the floor, shuffling his feet and saying “yes”. Bloody hell!! She must have had one of the first breast implants in Australia. She had them before I was born. Late 60’s maybe? Bearing in mind my parents weren’t well off. They were struggling at times and I know my mum had to “lose” a ring once just to claim on insurance to pay the mortgage. Jeez……she must have been proper unhappy to make that decision.
Realisation hit. There were no big boobs on the horizon. Unless of course I planned on buying some.
When I met my hubby, I talked about it. He felt uncomfortable that I would even consider it but as time went on, he understood why it had become such a big deal to me. I was uncomfortable naked, I liked to wear t-shirts in bed. I wasn’t even that comfortable alone in the shower. I was quite miserable about my body. Which is a shame really, because I’d kill to have that skinny frame again!
The thought of going under the knife came and went through my teens, 20’s and then into my 30’s. We never really had the money to do it, but I knew that you could get a loan to pay for them if you really wanted them. At the age of 30 my sister took the plunge. She rang me the night before the op to tell me. I felt happy for her, but slightly betrayed. The last flat chested woman standing.
Then I went on my infertility journey and around 35 I got pregnant with my daughter. Around that time we were given a little money by a relative, but I was pregnant obviously and about to go on maternity leave and quite frankly……my body was amazing. I never felt more like a woman than I did when I was pregnant. It really did do wonders for my self-esteem. I felt all-powerful. What a clever body.
Now of course, I have a daughter. She may or may not get the genes. If she does, I will encourage and promote a good self-esteem. I will point out pictures of beautiful women who are flat chested (there are quite a few of them) and hope to break the cycle. I, of course, won’t have breast implants now. I have a duty to provide a good role model and I think by doing that, I will undermine any body confidence plans. Of course, I know the ultimate decision is hers and I can deal with that if she chooses to have an operation. I can hardly blame her. I hope she waits a good while though. Ideally into her mid 20’s. It’s such a big deal.
So, yeah, it’s a little bit shit having small boobs but of course there are some advantages that I cling to.
- My boobs can’t droop
- I can go horse riding with little discomfort (I don’t, but I could!)
- I can run without a sports bra (I actually used to wear my padded bra when I ran)
- I can wear a plunging dress without looking tarty/attention grabbing
- I could wear backless tops with a stick on bra
- I can get a nice line in a dress (I guess that’s why all the skinnies are models)
- Men have only ever fancied me based on my face and personality
- I was never in pain being squashed against the railings at the front row of a mosh pit
- I have never had a bloke talk to my breasts
- I appreciate a lovely rack……..so excuse me whilst I stare at your ample bosom.
Not all bad then. I’m 41. I’ve had a bit of time to get used to this and whilst it’s not ideal, since when was any woman entirely happy with her appearance. I’m grateful for what my body has given me, with the small boobs came a slim body and a body that carried and delivered 2 beautiful children. I can live with that. C’est la vie.