Back in seventh grade, I found myself asking my mom for a bra. It wasn’t that I actually needed one, but in the gym locker room, everyone else had a bra on, and I felt like the odd one out with my flat chest and absence of straps. I was convinced that the “boob fairy” simply hadn’t visited me yet. Little did I know, I would be waiting for years, and when she did show up, she would come with an empty bag, offering a mere whisper of what could have been.
I am the poster child for the “barely-A” cup — the proud leader of the Flat Girls Club and the Itty-Bitty-Titty Committee. Picture a flat-chested version of a supermodel or a classic Hollywood starlet like Marilyn Monroe, but without the curves. That was me.
Despite my efforts to embrace body positivity, my small breasts were a source of insecurity for much of my life. I often felt “unwomanly,” struggling with my lack of cleavage and the inability to fill out a swimsuit. I resorted to padded push-up bras, dreaming of the day I could at least fill a B-cup to balance my pear-shaped figure. Looking back, I can’t help but chuckle at that younger version of myself; she had no clue about the strength her tiny breasts would reveal.
When I became pregnant with my first child, I welcomed the changes to my body. As my belly grew, so did my breasts. They filled out in ways I had never experienced before. After my daughter was born, I marveled as I went from a solid B to a C and then to “Is that a D?!” within days! While it was temporary engorgement, I eventually settled into a comforting B+. For the first time, my breasts made me feel genuinely womanly.
However, it was breastfeeding that transformed my perspective entirely. I had always known I wanted to breastfeed, but I never anticipated the profound impact it would have on how I viewed my body. Watching my daughter nurse, I was in awe of how my breasts were creating everything she needed. With each feeding, I observed my baby’s body grow stronger and rounder, all thanks to the milk produced by my tiny breasts.
My once insignificant breasts were, in fact, performing an incredible miracle every day. I fell deeply in love with them as they nurtured my child. That love only intensified when my second daughter was nursing, and my brother-in-law and his wife adopted a newborn baby boy. They needed breast milk for him, and I had plenty. I was able to pump milk for him while still feeding my own baby, nourishing two little ones at once. My breasts were truly amazing, proving their worth in ways I had never imagined.
Years have passed since I stopped breastfeeding, and I still hold my breasts in high esteem. Perhaps I would have come to love them regardless, but it’s hard to say. After all, I’ve come to appreciate the perks of having petite breasts — they remain “perky” even after having three kids, they’ll never sag, and I don’t need underwire for support. I can comfortably lie on my stomach, and I can run or jump without discomfort.
But I doubt I would have recognized these benefits without having seen the incredible things my breasts could do. It seems the breast fairy had a plan all along.
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In summary, my journey with breastfeeding completely shifted my perception of my body. What once felt like a flaw became a source of strength and pride, reminding me that every body has its unique power.