Shape Shifting

There is something peculiar happening to my body.  I hate to whine, but lord knows I have been exercising.  I generally eat reasonably well.  I get as much sleep as I need most of the time.  So what's happening, for crying out loud?

Lately I've noticed that my sweaters are zipping up in the front.  Now my jackets have always zipped completely up, but sweaters and such are negotiable.  They're warmer if they zip but sometimes they're just a little snug, so I don't try.  Even my polar fleece (I know they're ugly, but they're practical) that never zipped comfortably does now.  I was very surprised, and it took me a while to appreciate the change.  This is the good news portion of my blog.

But.  Now I'm overflowing my sports bra.  It would appear that my cups have shrunk, because I refuse to believe that the girls are growing.  Again.  I woke up one morning at about age 48, and realized that someone had slapped my mother's boobs on my chest when I wasn't looking.   This would have been a welcome change in my mid-20's when I was AAA cup size, and my husband told me I was a pirate, because I had a sunken chest.  Ha ha.  However, when the girls decide to get bigger later in life it's not a cause for celebration.  I didn't know what a pain in the neck larger breasts were.  I have no idea why women would go and have implants to increase their breast size, and let's not even discuss the strippers who go to totally ugly sizes (like JJJ or bigger).    Really, girls, wait until you're my age and see how you like them apples.

My days of wearing tiny little bras with no support ended when the girls got bigger.  My days of wearing dresses or t-shirts with spaghetti straps are over too because if one of those straps snaps, somebody in close proximity is going to lose an eye.  I am certainly not going to wear a halter top any time soon, because the lack of support would result in a very saggy silhouette.

Exercise requires extra support sports bras, which are comfortable but compress the girls into a very snug space.  I tend to fly out the door from pilates and run whatever errands are necessary.  I may change out of my yoga pants and top, but I rarely strip down to skivvies and start fresh.  As a result I tend to wear sports bras from Monday through Thursday.    I first noticed the overflow during a particularly long plank position last week.  Then one day when I was standing in line at the cashier I looked down and realized my tshirt was fitting as if I had a third girl in there.  Classic proof that I need to either increase a cup size, or go up in size around my chest.  To say that I am not impressed is a severe understatement.  

I don't go bra shopping for giggles.  When I go, I get "fitted" and then find one style that is comfortable and not terribly ugly and buy two of them.  Then I try to remember to take them out before the dryer so they don't die too soon.  Most recently I have been introduced to the new stand-alone version of a bra.  The ones with the layer of latex padding and a petal contraption so that your nipple doesn't show.   Being a child of the 60's, I had no idea that nipples were a big deal.  After all, everyone gets two.  These new bras come with underwire, which I think is sufficient reason to condemn Howard Hughes to eternal pain and suffering.  They're hot.  They don't move with my body.  I need a layer of latex over my middle aged boobs, like I need another  layer of fat over my butt.

My strategy at the moment is total denial.  It's going to take me a while to work up my courage to stand half-naked in a change room while some woman with cold hands flings a measuring tape around me.  If you see me in a store and try to get my attention, be sure to stand back so that I don't knock you over if I turn quickly.