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I had to buy a new bra today – a 34A.  Where the hell did my boobs go?  Breasts, okay, but for this post I’m sticking with boobs.

What you might not know is that in my 20’s I was a size H.  I had boobs, natural boobs, the size of Mz Berlin’s.  I had breast reduction surgery in the mid-90’s to reduce my gignormous, and in my opinion burdensome, boobies to a size C.  Now, at the time I was a much larger woman.  Here’s Bra 101 for you men:  The number is the size around your chest and the letter is your cup size small to large.  I went from a 46H to a 46C.

Even though I considered myself to be fat, I still felt like I had proportionate boobs for the first time and I loved them!  I showed them off to anybody who would look.   I ran around braless for the first time, showing off my perky nipples to the world!  I got my nipples pierced even, twice (why I took the first piercings out I don’t remember).  Oh, it’s safe to say that even at something like 230 lbs., I still felt sexy – curvy with great tits.

One of the things I did not anticipate in this giant weight loss adventure was losing my precious boobs (bewbs, breasts, tits, jugs, and boobies).  I dropped down to a 40B, then to a 36B, and then 34B.  Each time I noticed that I filled out my new bra less and less.  I’ve been talking for weeks about needing to buy a smaller bra, joking that I would have to give W my old bra as she grows and I shrink.

I’ve been dreading it and anticipating it in many ways.  At one time I dreamed of being flat chested, but I never actually imagined it or envisioned it.  I have noticed over the last few weeks in particular that there is noticeable space between my skin and the fabric of my 34B bra that I love so much.  I noted it to Mark, who is always sweet to point out that he’s really only interested in my nipples.

I gave in today and bought a 34A.  The last time I remember wearing a 34A it was a training bra (What exactly do training bras train?  Has anyone figured that out?) and I think I was 10.  This wasn’t part of the plan.  When I envisioned losing 150 lbs., I didn’t really factor in my boobs.  I was just thinking about being a size 4, my goal.

I’ve gone from being the girl with the second biggest boobs in high school (my sister is 3 years older and had bigger boobs) to being the Mom with the boobs smaller than a teenager.  What the fuck happened?  The other day some guy called me “flat-chested” as an insult.  Holy shit!

Women who are curvy and scrumptious, dare I say, fat, are curvy and scrumptious.  They do have the wonderful curves and the soft feminine tenderness that, in my opinion, fat provides.  Fat women that I find attractive are to me, in a way, so attractive because they do embody that motherly femininity that gives one comfort and warmth, the heft of weight in a breast held in your hand is sexy.  I miss that kind of feminine sexiness.

Coming to terms with my new body means I really do have to accept that my boobs are gone.  It’s not tragic, and I would never want anybody to compare this little pathetic observation of my body changing to the sudden loss of your boobs due to mastectomy – whole different game, not just ballpark.  They are gone, though, and the scars beneath them that are all that remain from the previous surgery leave me looking as though I’ve had them removed.

What I was just commenting to Marky is that I lost all this weight to feel sexier, and yet in many ways I feel less sexy.  Losing my boobs is for sure one of them.