Let’s Talk Ta-Ta’s

They’re yours—call them what you may.  The official term is breasts, but I always feel odd calling them that. I don’t know how classy it is, but I just flat out call them my boobs, or if I am trying to be appropriate I say “chest”.  I’ve heard other’s refer to them as “the girls”, “ta-ta’s”, “bazooms”, “sweet petites” and hundreds more.  I have no clue why, but my son used to refer to them as “oprahs”—he has no idea that a certain someone has that name, if so, he’d be very confused.  He is five years old now and refers to them as “boobies”, I would prefer for him to never refer to that area at all, ever!, or at least for the next fifteen or so years.

Well--as most mom’s probably can relate to--my ta-ta’s, girls, boobs, whatever, are now more like drooping water balloons.  Three vigorous nursing baby boys later and my boobies are now droopies, with no sign of miraculous perkiness in the future….not as long as gravity is still necessary for our planet.  So, I faced the fact that the smaller sized bras I’ve been saving since my mid-twenties, early married days, and before pregnancy, were never going to fit the same again.  No matter how much tucking and smooshing I tired.  I heeded a friend’s recommendation to purge ourselves of unnecessary “extra” in our life and feel more liberated.  And, I started with my bra collection.

I gathered them all up.  (These were the ones pretty enough to show)




Tried them all on.  (no pictures of course, it was even painful for me to see in the mirror).



Came to terms with my size, committed to it, and only kept those that fit.



Yes, those really are that big.  34 Double D. 

No sweet petites for me :( 

I did keep one exception though, a pretty, kind of sexy bra that squeezed and lifted in the most impractical way—that one won’t leave the bedroom (*blush and a wink*).


Here’s a short additional video…