When I was in middle school, I desperately wanted a bra. My body wasn’t ready for one, but all my friends had already made the leap. I felt like the odd one out with my flat chest, wishing for a little more curvature to fit in.
At that time, I thought maybe the “boob fairy” just hadn’t visited my house yet. Little did I know, I’d be waiting for years, and when she finally showed up, she came with an empty bag, presenting me with just a sprinkle of breast dust.
I’m the proud representative of the “barely-A” cup brigade. The leader of the Flat-Chested Society. Picture a supermodel’s slender frame without the height—just imagine Marilyn Monroe’s silhouette but without the voluptuousness. That’s me.
Despite my efforts to embrace body positivity, my small breasts haunted me. I often felt less feminine due to my nonexistent cleavage and the struggle to fill out a swimsuit. Padded bras became my go-to, just to create the illusion of curves. I dreamed of at least a B-cup to balance my pear-shaped figure.
Looking back at that younger version of myself, I can’t help but chuckle. She had no clue just how powerful her tiny breasts could become.
When I became pregnant with my first child, I reveled in the changes to my body. As my belly swelled, so did my breasts. They filled out in a way I had never experienced before. After giving birth, I watched in amazement as I went from a B to a C, and then to “Is that a D?!” within days. Of course, that was just temporary engorgement, and I eventually settled into a B+. For the first time, I felt truly womanly.
However, it was breastfeeding that truly transformed my perception. I had always intended to nurse, but I didn’t realize the profound impact it would have on how I viewed my body. Watching my daughter latch on, I was in awe that my breasts were providing everything she needed. I saw her body flourish, gaining chubby rolls and adorable cheeks, all thanks to my milk.
My small breasts were literally nurturing a human being. Those once insignificant little mounds were performing miracles daily. I found myself falling in love with my modest cleavage.
As my children grew, so did my appreciation for my breasts. When my second daughter was nursing, my brother-in-law and his wife adopted a newborn. They were eager for him to have breast milk, and I gladly pumped to provide nourishment for him while still feeding my own baby. It was incredible to think my breasts were producing rich, creamy milk for two little ones. Years later, they did the same for my third and final child. Breastfeeding became my superpower, showcasing the strength of my A-cups and proving they were essential.
Even after I stopped breastfeeding, my admiration for my breasts remained. I’d like to believe I would have learned to love them eventually, but I know my experience with breastfeeding played a vital role in that journey. There are many perks to having small breasts; they remain perky, they never sag, and I don’t have to worry about uncomfortable underwire or soreness while running.
But I don’t think I would have fully appreciated all these benefits without witnessing the incredible capabilities of my body.
It seems the breast fairy had a plan after all.
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Summary
The author shares her transformation in perspective about her small breasts through the experiences of pregnancy and breastfeeding. Initially feeling inadequate due to her flat chest, she discovers the remarkable power of her body during motherhood, ultimately learning to embrace and love her tiny breasts.