my ever-growing lady lumps

The pregnant body…. Amazingly clever and wonderful and giving of life and all that. Growing to provide strength and life to my little one. I get it.

But seriously, no one said I had to love it.

I made the mistake today of going bra shopping. I had done the same thing only 3 weeks ago. Upgrading my lovely 10c’s to a new set of 12d’s that were nowhere near as pretty but did a fair job of holding my much fuller, porn star looking boobs into place. Clearly I underestimated my potential.

Today, after a few days of growing discomfort in my brand new 12d’s I decided to hit the shops and see about getting a different set of bras.  And hey, we have so much money to throw around, what’s another $150 spent on underwear (NOT!).

big boobies!

big boobies!

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to 14d territory. Welcome to my utter dismay at the sheer size of my once “handful is just enough” boobs. I have never been a 14 anything. Ever. It’s not a number I’m either familiar with or comfortable with. Not that I have issue with size 14 women. I say that as long as you are healthy, be whatever size you like, and I love the fact women come in all different shapes and sizes. Its just that for me, this was the first time that I really, truly feel like I have lost control of my body.

I’ve always tried to look after myself. Eaten well and gone through sporadic bouts of loving exercise followed by periods of doing none at all. Throughout it all though, I have been in total control of my weight and how my body looks.

Not anymore folks! These 14d’s have landed on my chest like a sack of potatoes and nothing I can do is going to stop them. I’ve only put on about 3.5kgs since getting up the duff so I can’t place the blame on huge weight gain or blowing out on bad food. This is purely my body doing its thing. My body deciding that a career in a titty mag might be an option to consider, should my current job go tits up (mind the pun).

Many women love the added boobage that comes along with being pregnant. To be honest, I

the dreaded tape

thought I would too. But alas, I am not. I am struggling to embrace my newfound lady lumps. I’m actually struggling to embrace anything – too much boob in the way. They are heavy and they sore, and no doubt, going to get even bigger.

So the control freak in me has had to learn a hard lesson today. My boobs are no longer my own, and neither is the rest of my body.

Both my changing body and how it’s made me feel is no doubt a sign of what is to come. I need to learn to accept the changes that lie ahead, for both my body and my mind. I need to learn to accept my 14d’s. I need to accept that they might turn into 14dd’s (god no).

I need to accept that my body is no longer mine. I’ll get it back one day but for now, over to you my ever-growing lady lumps. Do your thing and I’ll do my best to not totally freak out.

xx A

this is not a food baby

So I haven’t written for too many days.  Lets just say life went and got in the way and I needed to take a few days to focus on something more important.  Add in a quick trip to Albany for work and I find it’s suddenly been a week since I’ve written a word.

But, now I’m back. You can all let out a communal sigh of relief. Stop panicking. Its ok. I’m back on deck. Oh sorry….what’s that? You didn’t realize I had left…? Well, this is awkward.

Anyway. Whilst you were busy missing my thrice-weekly updates, I had a revelation. A pretty big one.

I’m. Having. A. Baby.

That’s right. A real life, can’t give back, person sized, fully-fledged baby. What the fuck?!

I think it started to hit me a few days ago when a friend gave birth to her little bundle of baby boy joy. I was sent a picture of the gorgeous little 2-hour-old creature and suddenly realized – one of those is going to come out of me.  Not only was it going to come OUT of me but it is currently IN me. Growing all that hair and limbs and starting to yawn and hear and all sorts of human like

This is not a food baby.

This is not a food baby.

things which don’t seem quite right when occurring inside my once empty mid region.

Insert mild panic attack and sudden return of nausea.

Now we are 19 weeks into this journey (where has that time gone by the way?) I guess those dots are all starting to connect. Those dots, that just a couple of months ago were floating around aimlessly in my head, were, in an instant connected, lined up, pieced together and slammed into my unsuspecting brain like a freight train.

I’m. Having. A. Baby.

Not a food baby. A real baby.

No doubt the photo wasn’t the only thing to trigger the connection with my uterus that occurred other day. The large bump starting to protrude through my clothes were my abs used to be is somewhat of a wake up call, and the rock melon sized boobs where my quite delightful C cups used to live are a definite sign that something is going on.

A baby. That’s what’s going on. An actual human being that in about 20 weeks or so is going to be here and need me.

I’m going to be a mum.

You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds in my own head. But its real and its happening and I actually starting to quite like the sound of it.

Don’t get me wrong. There is still a LOT I’m learning to come to terms with. A lot that seems bizarre and at times I still feel like I’m having an out of body experience and that some other poor woman is going to push this baby out at the end. But day-by-day, bit-by-bit, those dots are becoming a part of my being.

Baby. Mum. Me.

Not a food baby. A real baby. And he’s mine.

xx A

a sad day for denim

Today was a sad day. A tragic day. A changing day in my journey.

Just 48 hours ago, a girlfriend said to me “wow, your still fitting into your jeans?!”

Yep, I say. Not bad hey.  Smug, smug me.

Today, on went my old faithful denim friends. Not my every day go to pair of jeans but that pair of jeans that lurks in every woman’s closet. The pair that just makes you feel good. The ones where your bum looks awesome and you can prance around the world for the day thinking yep, today, I look fab. I love those jeans.

On they went. Got in the car. Drove to a site visit. Walked around said site visit thinking

a) bad choice of shoes for a day pounding the pavement and

b) hhmmm, these jeans don’t feel as good as they normally do

Putting the pinching feeling around my waist to the back of mind, I got on with it and went about my day.

Then I ate lunch.

Although it was just a light salad and a juice, my denim world crumbled. I simply couldn’t take it anymore. What had happened? Had I been punked? Had someone switched these delightful prance inspiring denim faithfuls with a pair of one size smaller, waist pinching torturers? Say it isn’t so.

Not so smug anymore I hear my denim whispering.

I’ve been one of those lucky pregnant women who hasnt really gained any weight just yet. Sure my boobs are the size of grapefruits and I have a little paunch around my belly that could be mistaken for a bit of a burger bender symptom rather than a baby, but as a whole, I think the weight has simply shifted rather than been added.

Today, that shift claimed its first victim.

In the space of 3 hours I had gone from a confident denim wearing prancer to a belt and top button undone, slouching fat bellied pregnant lady.

What the fuck? How did this happen?

Get used to it I hear you say, its all a part of being pregnant, you’re going to get a lot bigger!

I know all of this of course. Its just the today was the first day that I really felt like I was going to have to say goodbye to my body. And clearly my denim.

Maybe it’s one more dot that just got connected? Maybe its just one more piece of the puzzle, designed to get me ready for the loss of a lot more control in my life.  Maybe I just ate too much pasta last night.

Either way, tonight, when I got home, I took those bad boys off. Quickly.

No amount of prancing is going to make up for the discomfort those old faithfuls now cause me.

So back in the cupboard they go. Never to be chosen again. Well, not until I get my body back anyway.

Maybe they will become my goal pants. The ones that, in about a years time, I will be striving to get back into. The ones that on a night out post baby, give me my prance back.

Until then my denim friends. I’m sorry. I love you. Goodbye.


Xx A