A little too much support
I'm feeling a little cranky today. If you have a penis and you're reading this, you might want to move along. Consider yourself warned, there be girlie stuff ahead.
So, as I was saying, I'm feeling a little cranky today. Rather than having my knickers in a twist, I've got my boobies in a bind. For the first time since the second or third trimester of my pregnancy, I'm wearing a real bra instead of a nursing bra. Okay, another caveat before we begin, just so you know where I'm coming from. I'm no A cup. I aspire to a C cup. Last I checked, I was somewhere in the netherworld the far side of a DD cup, at which point I stopped measuring. Damn breastfeeding.
I have a love-hate relationship with bras. I know some women who peel them off the moment they are in the privacy of home (Mom, are your ears burning?) and some women who don't even bother. Personally, that's just a little bit too much freedom for me. I'm like a toddler that way; I need boundaries. But bras are evil! If they don't have enough give, you are likely fidgeting all day trying to get comfortable in them or, worse, bulging over the edges. Not a pretty sight. If they're too loose, you might as well go commando - the bra isn't accomplishing anything.
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, let me say that to me nursing bras the fuzzy slippers of bras - nice and stretchy and comfy, but not incredibly supportive. Fine, if you don't mind your nipples in the vicinity of your navel. Underwire bras, the industrial strength kind you need to defy gravity with anything larger than a C cup, are like stiletto heels. They make an outfit look fabulous, but they are uncomfortable as hell.
Which brings me back to my crankiness. I can't pull a full breath without having some epoxy-coated wire digging into my armpit, I'm all chafed in the chest, and I think the straps are digging a permanent groove into my shoulder. All things considered, I'm not a happy camper. But at least I can run down the stairs without crossing my arms in front of me!
So tell me, which do you value more - comfort or fashion?
So, as I was saying, I'm feeling a little cranky today. Rather than having my knickers in a twist, I've got my boobies in a bind. For the first time since the second or third trimester of my pregnancy, I'm wearing a real bra instead of a nursing bra. Okay, another caveat before we begin, just so you know where I'm coming from. I'm no A cup. I aspire to a C cup. Last I checked, I was somewhere in the netherworld the far side of a DD cup, at which point I stopped measuring. Damn breastfeeding.
I have a love-hate relationship with bras. I know some women who peel them off the moment they are in the privacy of home (Mom, are your ears burning?) and some women who don't even bother. Personally, that's just a little bit too much freedom for me. I'm like a toddler that way; I need boundaries. But bras are evil! If they don't have enough give, you are likely fidgeting all day trying to get comfortable in them or, worse, bulging over the edges. Not a pretty sight. If they're too loose, you might as well go commando - the bra isn't accomplishing anything.
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, let me say that to me nursing bras the fuzzy slippers of bras - nice and stretchy and comfy, but not incredibly supportive. Fine, if you don't mind your nipples in the vicinity of your navel. Underwire bras, the industrial strength kind you need to defy gravity with anything larger than a C cup, are like stiletto heels. They make an outfit look fabulous, but they are uncomfortable as hell.
Which brings me back to my crankiness. I can't pull a full breath without having some epoxy-coated wire digging into my armpit, I'm all chafed in the chest, and I think the straps are digging a permanent groove into my shoulder. All things considered, I'm not a happy camper. But at least I can run down the stairs without crossing my arms in front of me!
So tell me, which do you value more - comfort or fashion?
Said DaniGirl at 6:43 a.m. #
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