Tonight I went bra shopping.

I haven’t worn a real bra since having Jude. I usually wear nursing tank tops, and I’ve only ever worn a nursing bra a handful of times. When I was still pregnant, I went to Victoria’s Secret to be measured, and if I remember correctly, I was around a 38-40 B. Now, for those of you who don’t bra shop much, let me tell you… Finding a bra sized 38B or 40B is damn near impossible. I guess bra makers can’t fathom the idea that a person’s band size would be growing exponentially while their cup size… well, not so much. I was only able to find one (ONE!) bra in the correct size. I lived in that bra for about two months until Jude was born.

Tonight I again wandered in to Victoria’s Secret in the hopes of becoming America’s Next Top… wait, that’s not it. I went in to get measured in the hopes of procuring a well-fitting bra. There were four women working. Three of them looked like they *might* have just graduated from middle school. I couldn’t bring myself to be measured by a teenager, so I waited until the oldest looking of the four was free and asked if she could fit me for a bra.

She took me into the back where the fitting rooms are and measured me… once… twice… three time. She looked puzzled. I figured she was going to deliver the same bad news I had gotten more than a year earlier, “Sorry honey, your boobs are just jacked up. No bra maker makes a bra to fit such disproportionate boobies. I’m sorry for your loss.” Instead, she looked at me and said, “Well, you’re around a 34 or a 36, and you fall somewhere between a C and a D.” ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? I’M ALMOST A D CUP? Me? The girl who could barely fill an A cup two years ago? Me? Are you sure? WOO HOO!

Okay, so yes, it was 7:30 at night, and yes, I hadn’t nursed my son in about six hours, and YES! My boobs did feel like they were ready to explode, but SHE SAID I’M ALMOST A D CUP! I could have kissed her.

I have never been so happy to spend $38 on a bra.