Today is the first day we have ever dropped the cub off for a play date and left. Followed by an afternoon of freedom! Wooohooo! What that meant in actual reality is that we have had an afternoon nap, watched Scotland lose their match in the Six Nations and then counted the minutes until she came home. The house is mighty quiet when she isn’t here and it is so strange now. The memories of what we used to do before a cub are so diminished now, when we have the opportunity of alone time we have no clue what to do with ourselves. Self care isn’t a bad thing though at the moment; as parents we are holding everything together to maintain a level of normality and this is taking our spare reserves as our normal reserves are also dealing with the multiple appointments, the emotional drain of maintaining a strong and united front. Phew. I do wonder how we are doing this at points.
Cub returns and within minutes normality has returned. We have noise again!! But I will be forever grateful for those few hours respite. They allowed us to reset a little and any time to do that is appreciated and needed.
Bras. F**king bras. Aaaaaaaaaaagh. So I finally dragged myself out of the house to look for a bra to accommodate the smaller (now cancer free) boob and the always bigger boob. I have finally accepted that the ones I currently have aren’t cutting the mustard and as a full grown adult I need to sort this out. However, I am dreading the trip. Really deep down dreading it. I know what the problem will be and I am already worked up before I leave the house. Unless I want to spend a small fortune on underwear (which only I and the man cub can see) I am restricted to the plainest of plain and limited beyond reason above that to a range of underwear that is dull. Now bearing in mind only I and the man cub see this, its still nice to feel pretty.
Let me set the scene – popping to the local cheaper stores (think supermarket end) for a bra turns out to be an impossible task and all that happens is I end up yelling internally (or externally to whomever I am with) that I’m never again going to be able to buy a ‘cheap’ bra (I want to be 18 again!). Going to a specialist store illicits further internal yelling that there isn’t that much material to justify a monthly mortgage payment (I exaggerate – but only slightly) to cover my boobs. A midway store provides a multitude of prettiness to drag you in there, get excited about the colour and lace, and then gut wrenchingly realise that all those ones only go up to a DD max.
Just because I am a F/FF cup size does not mean that I am a 36 plus back size. I fail to understand why retailers seem to believe that an ancient and mythical belief in the current time is still adhered to. Those who are slim have small boobs. Those who are larger have big boobs. No, no, no and more of the no. You see, RETAILERS, it is possible that a slim person has bigger boobs. Where this all annoys me even more is that the larger ladies are still accommodated by a small boob size (happily corrected on this – just what I’ve seen). I, however, am left scratching around midway expensive stores so I don’t blow the food budget on one bra, for just a couple of plain black and white bras.
Now today I was with my mother and the cub. So it all went splendidly well. NOT. My mother is constantly repeating ‘this ones pretty, oh they don’t do beyond a DD’ (helpful mam), and the cub is asking what size she is looking for and proceeds to shout loudly when she has found an F or a 32, neither together at the same time. I could have sat down and drank a bottle of vodka (yes, it was that bad) right there in the middle of all the bras. And as any other person who has tried bras on – they aren’t like pants – they don’t ‘just fit’. There are versions on a bra – balcony, underwired, padded, non-wired, t-shirt, convertible…… and so it continues. So you have to try them on. Depending on the specific style they either squeeze you, cause back fat, underarm fat, above boob lumps. Its too bloody much to cope with.
At one point, I was sat in the changing room this afternoon on the floor. With real tears in my eyes. And all I could hear was the cub outside the walls of the changing rooms shouting at Nannan that she’d found another one for me. I was at the actual end of my tether – broken by bra shopping. Out of five bras in the entire shop that I could find in my actual size to try on, and then that actually fit – I bought two. Dull as. Cream and blue. To accommodate my wardrobe so I could actually wear them under dark and light clothes. That is it. Two hours of my life. Two bras.
Now, this isn’t just a post cancer issue for me. I had previously had the same struggle, just not quite so pronounced. I feel like I can’t be the only person that has this problem though. Surely slimmer girls have the same issue, or maybe they’re more open to spending a small bloody fortune on underwear. Maybe I am blowing this out of proportion, but being unable to access clothing (that’s pretty vital in this society) readily and easily at a reasonable cost is important to me and I’d imagine a lot of people. And everything you read about bra fitting suggests that it is vitally important to be fitted well. But my experience would suggest that people aren’t fitting themselves well as they can’t afford to do so. Another one to add to the list of things I want to look into more when my head space allows.
Because for the moment I have two bras. That fit well. And I will take that as a win today.