We're going to dive into some girl talk, readers. Boys, you've been warned.
So, bras. I went bra shopping last week, because you know, your whole body changes after birthing a babe. Now that Asher is no longer attached to any part of my body, I find my upper body . . . lacking, perhaps? At least, it's lacking more than it did before. (And maybe even more than before the babe, so, this isn't a laughing matter.) I need a new bra. Obviously.
But here's the thing, I don't even know how to go about that anymore. I don't even know my size. Good hell. I was at Kohl's with Asher a week ago, and I had a handful of bras that I'd picked out ignorantly, trying to make myself feel great about it all. Actually, I was hating the entire experience. So I left them all in the dressing room and looked at baby clothes instead. Because shopping for baby clothes is infinitely more fun than shopping for a bra for a post-breastfeeding body.
So here's the plan: Sometime soon I am going to leave the babe with either his dad or his grandma and go to Nordstrom where they treat you right. I'm going to get officially fitted and try on a dozen hand-picked bras and then pay a bit to buy one. That's just how it has to be. I want to feel pretty, and some days motherhood is not conducive to pretty. Some days my shirt sports applesauce and yogurt, and I really don't think it's too much to ask for my boobs to look decent in my applesauce shirts, right? Right. So we agree. Let's go classy on this.