Back in middle school, I was desperate for a bra, even though I hardly needed one. In the locker room, as my peers donned their feminine undergarments, I felt out of place with my completely flat chest. At that time, I thought the “boob fairy” had simply skipped over me. Little did I know, I’d be waiting a long time, and when she finally visited, she would leave me with just a sprinkle of “breast dust.”
I’m the poster child for the “barely-A” cup. The Flat Girls Club’s queen. The proud president of the Itty-Bitty-Titty Committee. You know how supermodels often have that tall, slender look paired with a flat chest? I possess that flatness without any of the height. Picture Marilyn Monroe’s figure but without the curves up top—yup, that’s me.
Despite my efforts to embrace body positivity, my small breasts have been a source of insecurity for most of my life. In my youth, I often felt “unwomanly,” unable to fill out a swimsuit and lacking in cleavage. I resorted to wearing padded bras, wishing for just a B cup to balance my pear-shaped silhouette. Looking back at that younger version of myself, I can’t help but shake my head. She had no idea about the strength her petite bosom would one day reveal.
When I became pregnant with my first child, I was excited to see how my body would transform. As my belly grew, so did my breasts—they filled out in a way that was completely new to me. After my daughter was born, I was shocked to discover I had gone from a solid B to a C, and then “Is that a D?!” in just a few short days. Sure, that was just temporary swelling, but once everything settled, I found myself comfortably at a B+. For the first time, my breasts felt womanly.
However, the real transformation in my perspective came from my breastfeeding experience. I had always planned to nurse, but I didn’t realize how much it would change my view of my body. Watching my daughter latch on, I was in awe that my breasts were providing everything she needed. I watched her flourish, gaining weight and developing those adorable baby rolls, all from my milk. My once insignificant breasts were performing a miraculous feat daily. I was filled with admiration for my little boobs.
As my children grew, my newfound appreciation deepened. My second daughter was nursing when my brother-in-law and his wife adopted a newborn. They wanted him to have breastmilk, and I was more than happy to pump extra for him. Both babies thrived, and my breasts produced enough creamy, rich milk to nourish them simultaneously. It felt like I had superpowers; my tiny A-cups were proving their worth.
Years have passed since I last breastfed, yet I still hold my breasts in high esteem. Maybe I would have learned to love them eventually, even without the experience of nursing. After all, I’ve come to appreciate the perks of small breasts. They remain perky even after three kids, and I don’t have to worry about sagging. I don’t need underwire for support, and I can comfortably lie on my stomach. Activities like running or jumping don’t require a sports bra, which is fantastic.
I doubt I would have seen the positives in my small breasts without having witnessed the incredible capabilities they possess. Perhaps the breast fairy knew what she was doing after all.
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In summary, my journey from insecurity to appreciation for my small breasts was largely influenced by my experiences with pregnancy and breastfeeding. I’ve learned to embrace my body and recognize the unique advantages of having petite breasts, all thanks to the marvelous capabilities they possess.