Seas of Cleavage

I don't remember seeing so much cleavage when I was in high school. Yet, when I subbed at a high school this past Friday, I felt accosted by young, perky breasts. Perhaps this is because of my own self-consciousness about my changing breasts. More disappointment and worry really. I look in the mirror now and see where my pectoral muscles are and then below them a set of crepe-paper balloons…after a day or two of slow deflation.

The worry comes from the realization that my breasts have full-filled their purpose. No longer do I need them to catch a man, I'm married. No longer do I need them to nurture my children, they are all weaned to cow's milk. Because they have no function now I am worried they will continue to shrivel and flatten until they are fried eggs, slack and floppy on the plate.

Disappointment comes from how I look at myself now and how much my breasts are a part of my opinions. When I was a young girl, maybe 9 or 10, I would play dress up in my mother's maternity dresses. I would put on a dress and a hat, tall knee highs (which slumped and sagged because I was not yet a woman) heels and a training bra stuffed with tissue. I would put my dolls in an old stroller and I would take a walk around the neighborhood.

When my friends all started developing breasts I would obsess over when mine would arrive. Checking my profile in the mirror, looking at the women in my family and trying to imagine what I would look like. I only had bumps--my uncle called them sweater bumps when I was 12 and laughed at the idea that I was growing up.

Finally, the summer between middle school and high school they arrived. It was as if I had gone to bed flat and woken up stacked. My first day of high school I ran into one of the boys who used to tease me in middle school and watched with complete satisfaction while he took a quick second glance and his jaw dropped. Power. Power I toyed with throughout the rest of high school and even into adulthood.

I knew then when guys looked at me they were looking down first before they figured out what color my eyes were--some never even took the chance to look at my eyes. After the first two years of low shirts and flaunting, these head turning appendages were becoming cumbersome and uncomfortable. It was hard to run for softball and harder still to find clothes that fit properly. Girls would whisper behind their hands to each other and boys would make inappropriate and sexual comments--though at the time, this was novel and completely encouraged. I think for a period of three months the baseball team called me "Colorado Rockies". My family would even comment whenever they saw me that my chest was huge and who did I pick up that gene from…and why didn't they get it, too!

I became very modest. I started wearing shirts that covered everything. Tee-shirts, bulky sweatshirts, overalls--somehow they were still noticeable but the attention on me finally seemed less about appearance. For a period of years I considered what it would be like to have a reduction. I still consider it now.

Finally in a promising relationship with my future husband I was at peace with my appearance--when we met for the first time, he looked straight into my eyes. At a C cup I didn't think they could get any bigger. Wrong! After my first child they shot to a D. I gained 44 lbs with my pregnancy and kept the weight on into my second pregnancy. So self-conscious of my new size and the continued attention I received for my chest--from males and females alike--I started rolling my shoulders forward, slouching. My friends would comment that they were going to sign me up for "what not to wear" because I was choosing clothes that were so completely uptight for my age.

My husband loves me and has only ever been encouraging about my appearance. After my second pregnancy, I lost all the weight gained from that pregnancy, 25lbs. I didn't even have to do anything. Encouraged, I signed up for an exercise class. The weight just came off. Then, a year later, I suddenly remembered that I was an intelligent woman with youth on my side. I left my mind-numbing, butt spreading job and went back to college. I took a few more exercise classes and got more weight off. I started remembering how confident I had been at 13 with new boobs and found myself wanting to shed the layers of self-doubt, shame, and timidity.

With a good bra, my breasts could be hiked up and reined in (the thing about big boobs is the lack of control the owner has over where they move). With the help of a few very good and fashion savvy friends, I was able to find more form fitting clothing. Ones that were flattering, not flaunting. More mature now, it would be inappropriate to naively leave everything hanging out. I began showing on the outside who I was on the inside--not just a chest with a loud mouth but a whole person. It felt wonderful and freeing.

By my third pregnancy I had learned a few things. After my first pregnancy with unbalanced diet and lack of willpower to my every craving (whole packages of cookies were a delightful repast), I became calorie conscience. After my second pregnancy with more activity and more enthusiasm I became focused on fitness. So, through my whole third pregnancy I ate the recommended diet for healthy moms and participated in yoga and later a walking/fitness class. At 7 months pregnant I could do a full yoga back-bend! My baby weight was off within the first 6 weeks of delivery…but then I was still 25lbs outside of my range for a fit lifestyle. My body was changing. Curiously, even though I was losing weight, the remaining weight was proportioning itself in places that didn't seem correct.

Strangely enough, I didn't have to bend over much to nurse my third baby. I was able to just move my breast around. I needed a Boppy for nursing my first baby, but this one was able to lie comfortably in my lap. Stranger still, my cup size had moved to a DD! How was it possible that my lower set of breasts could actually fill a bigger bra? It didn't make sense and it was frustrating as well as discouraging. The weight began creeping on again.

Now, as I stand in front of a classroom filled with students ages 14-18, I am thrown back into a world of firm and lifted confidence that I see in these young girls. I am not sure if I am annoyed or more resolved to reestablish myself. In 3 months I will stand in front of 120 people. Some I know and others I do not. I will be standing next to one of my very best friends while she enters a new life as a wife and eventually a mother. As a matron of honor I want to be in the best form for her pictures. For her, I want to look like I give a damn. And then I made a promise, out loud, to her. I will be fit for her wedding.

After talking to my husband about my changing body (which he graciously remains encouraging about even now, 10 years later), he has agreed to help me achieve my goal. Then it occurred to me, I do not just want to be fit for her wedding; I want to be fit 50 years from now, too. This is a lifestyle change in the making. I do not want to hide behind clothes; I do not want to be self-conscious about my appearance. I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to be comfortable being me!

So, along with the regular menus and deflecting annexation of fast foods and sparing use of restaurants, we are going to be more active. Input and output of calorie goals need to be succinct. Here is where more worry comes in. I am already able to rest my breasts on my belly when sitting. It is almost like my nipples could just whisper hello to my belly button. What will happen when I lose weight? Even toning will not reshape the sagging skin that used to hold a hungry baby's feedings. What will happen when I become a fit person but have a sack of skin hanging down?!

I am going to push forward anyway. All those seas of cleavage will drown me if I do not allow myself to feel powerful again. Not over other men this time, but over my own outlook on life. There is no other option at this point. I have to move forward.

There are 10 weeks until my fitting for the wedding--a perfect motivator and launch-pad for pushing me to succeed. In this 10 week period I will be taking a Zumba (fitness) class with my husband. I want to incorporate strength training and flexibility exercises into my goals as well. I am result focused. Let's just see if gravity can work in reverse to offer a buoyant life preserver.