Topshop bras

On Friday night my friends turned up at my house dressed as me. It was the day before my birthday and they showed up wearing running gear and had socks shoved down their bras to represent my ample bosom. They then proceeded to carry out stretches in my front room, heaving bosoms and all, which was very entertaining.

Anyway, as they all chest bumped me (yes they did that!) with their big knockers, it reminded me that I was going to write a blog on having big boobies…

When I was a teenager all my friends bought Topshop bras. You know those pretty, lacy ones with spaghetti straps. The type I have never worn and never will. Boy how I longed to buy a Topshop bra. Anyone else over a C -cup will understand my longing. Whilst my friends had pretty bras that fitted neatly under vest tops and dresses, I had to buy ones that had straps 2 inches wide to hoist up my breasts.

At school I remember one lovely boy who used to shout ‘jugs’ at me every time he saw me. I soon learnt that if I rounded my shoulders and wore baggy clothes, I could conceal them better. I’ve stopped wearing the baggy jumpers but the bad posture remains.

On a summer night out this year, a good friend of mine and I wore little dresses. It was warm and this seemed the thing to do. She, like me, has boobs that enter the room before she does. She and I compared the scaffolding under our dresses, both of us having to take extreme measures to ensure there was no risk of tits escaping. It’s actually quite ridiculous the measures we’d had to take to avoid anyone copping an eyeful and despite these extreme measures, we still both stood awkwardly adjusting ourselves.

The other thing about these humungous bras that we have to wear, is that they cost a small fortune. Only a select few shops sell bras in my size and if I want a bikini, that’s even trickier! In fact, this summer whilst playing bat and ball on the beach with my daughter, I realised (to my horror) that my nipple was not entirely contained in my bikini top! Instead of enjoying a game with my daughter, I self-consciously squished my boobs back into place after every shot. Quite frankly, it’s a pain in the arse.

My final moan about big breasts is the difficulty with breastfeeding (which thankfully I’ll never have to do again). I remember a lovely lady at the hospital telling me to just ‘pop’ Eva onto my breast. What I actually needed to do was heave my giant boob out of it’s granny bra and then try to ensure it didn’t smother my tiny, new born baby.

Now I’ve got all of that off my (rather large) chest, I will acknowledge that my breasts fed two babies and aren’t yet touching my knees (I mean unless I bend forwards) so I do appreciate them.

Seriously though, I know I’ve been lucky and I am grateful that they are (so far) healthy boobies and really that’s the most important thing. So until I’ve designed a way of donating chest blubber to those crazy friends who want bigger breasts, I’ll continue to strap mine down with two sports bras and appreciate mine…