It's not exactly sexy, but it's a hard worker. Just like me.
So the other day at the school playground, presumably under the live load exerted on it by me chasing one of the children near the three-hour mark since I'd last fed the baby, the underwire of the left side came springing out of the fabric and stabbed me.
Because I am classy, I reached into my shirt to shove the wire back into place. I also noticed that I had two nursing pads balled up in one cup and none in the other. A good look, truly.
When I attempted surgery on it this morning and was unable to fix it, I knew it was time to call the time of death and buy something else. So after we dropped off the big boys James and I headed to Target, home of the fourteen-dollar bra.
We walked straight past all the cute little colorful demi cups. Those are for another time, like nineteen-ninety-eight. I was looking for some structural integrity and enough coverage that it could act as an emergency shirt in case of vomit/blowout. We were headed for the back, to black, beige, and white land. Full Coverage and Minimizing for the Lactating Woman of Eastern European Descent! (If that's not a brand name, it totally should be)
I wasn't going to be one of those people who wears the wrong size bra. I've seen Oprah. So I grabbed about five different sizes in one style and headed for the dressing room where I learned that I do not have the upper body strength required to hook the band of the size I thought I was. Swearing softly, I put it back on the hanger and grabbed the biggest of the stack. I found it slightly easier to clasp, but still felt like a praying mantis once I finally got the straps up on my shoulders.
James was very confused by all of this bra changing, by the way. Ultimately he became enraged and demanded I stop teasing him then pooped out the leg of his diaper while I was feeding him. Touche, little man. Touche.
I settled on one that kind of hurt and clearly didn't fit right but that was the biggest size I was willing to carry to the front of the store and buy in person.
Then I skulked back out there and forced myself to find some bigger ones (for my bigger ones), telling myself all the while that I needed to find something that fit so I could wear it for more than five minutes without bruising, stabbing, or rib fractures, I don't have to love it stop acting like a child!
I found some
I'm still wearing the stabby one pending a trip to the big guns (ha ha HA) bra store at the mall where a stern older woman will unceremoniously measure you, feel you up, then lead you to the three-hook, full coverage bra-shirts in the back.