A tale of two knockers...

With a friend on Martha's Vineyard about 2.5 weeks ago.
I am the wide one on the left.

I don’t know why I am telling the internet this story. Obviously, I’ve lost my mind.

(Or, maybe, I just want somebody to lie to me and tell me that is all going to be okay. I am not above asking for public sympathy from strangers.)

I am in a friend’s wedding in late January. For those keeping track, that is approximately a month after I am scheduled to give birth. The good news is that I am not at risk of going into labor at the altar. The bad news is that there is little to no hope for my body being back in any semblance of shape before then.

Since I’ve never spawned another human before, I have no idea how long it will take me to lose the baby weight. I’ve read that some people never lose it. All these unknowns make buying a bridesmaid dress very difficult. The consensus, however, is that I should buy the dress two sizes larger than the size I am now and hope for the best.

(I already get to order extra length because I am a jolly, green giant.)

Or, at least, that was my plan.

On Saturday morning, I went in to get measured. But in order for this story to make sense, you need to know the following:

TMI disclosure No. 1: I am a pant size twelve and have been for years. In dresses (depending on the cut, of course) I am usually a size ten.

TMI disclosure No. 2: I started this pregnancy journey with boobs that fluctuated between a 36D and a 36DD. No one else in my family is well endowed, so it makes perfect sense that they’d be wasted on the tomboy who has resented them since puberty.

TMI disclosure No. 3: I’ve gained three pounds since becoming knocked up. I am pretty sure it is all in my chest.

TMI disclosure No. 4: I was measured for another bridesmaid dress about a month ago (the January bride has changed her mind a couple of times), and I was what the lady referred to at the time as “a true size twelve”.

But back to Saturday:

I go in to get measured, tell them I am pregnant and that I expect to give birth about one month before the wedding. They happen to have a sample of the dress I will be wearing in a size twelve, and they ask me to try it on. It fit perfectly in the hips, was too big in the waist and was uncomfortably snug in the chest. So, I strip back down to my skivvies, and the lady comes in with the dreaded measuring tape.

I will spare you my actual measurements in inches, but this is how my body broke down by dress size:

Hips: Size Twelve

Waist: Size Eight

Bust: Size SIXTEEN

But that isn’t even the best part. Because my boobs are already so freaking huge coupled with the fact that I plan on breastfeeding, I had to order a size eighteen dress. That’s right: A FREAKING SIZE EIGHTEEN! TO ACCOMMODATE MY BOOBS!

They weren’t even concerned with my stomach. Most places apparently recommend going up two dress sizes if you are pregnant or due close to an event. Thanks to my chest, I’m already going up three.

And this would be the point in the story where I started to cry.

The ladies in the boutique tried to make me feeling better by saying things like:

“Oh, honey! It isn’t that bad! You are still a size twelve! And your waist is tiny! I’d kill for a size eight waist!”

…and…

“Women pay big bucks to have boobs your size! Just think how lucky you are!"

As if I am supposed to find comfort in being a naturally occurring Dolly Parton.

Of course, I got no sympathy from Trevor who just smiled, puffed up his chest and started to strut. He might as well have screamed, “My wife has giant knockers! Woo-Hoo!” from the nearest rooftop.

(That boy, I swear. He could have at least pretended better.)

And then I got to the gym only to discover that the scale had gone up another half a pound since Wednesday. This really sent me to the top of Mount Crazy in a hurry, and Trevor ended up on the elliptical next to me in an effort to talk me down slowly. Yes, I know I am supposed to be gaining weight. Yes, I know that weighing myself every two or three days is a bad idea because my weight is all over the place. Yes, I know I am retaining water like a sponge. Yes, I know the doctor told me that I would most likely gain 25-30 pounds during this pregnancy, and that I have to gain it sometime in the next five months. I know! I know! I know! But it doesn’t make it any easier when you have already been described as “wide” and have breasts that put Pamela Anderson to shame.

And, as a side note for anyone who thinks having giant knockers is all fun and rainbows, I’ve had to start seeing a chiropractor regularly because my upper back and neck aren’t taking the extra weight up top in stride. Oh, and one of my old lady bras had an over the shoulder strap that SNAPPED under pressure on Friday afternoon. Apparently, the weight of my dress size sixteen boobs was just too much for it to handle. Christmas cannot come soon enough!