Full-Frontal Stupidity

Just discovered that the average breast size in the US is a 34 DD, which would make me pretty close to average, I guess. So I was right. There’s no way I’m Boobzilla.

Full disclosure: I actually got in front of my full-length mirror and flashed myself one night after measuring to prove to myself that I was not delusional and that I was in deed typically-sized, there. And it was just like I thought.

My mom was AA pre-pregnancy, for crying out loud! That’s completely flat. Aunt Cece knew right away Mom was preggo with me because it was obvious from the front of her.

It’s kind of a funny story. They were sitting on the front steps of my grandmother’s house. Mom would’ve been 22, I guess, making Cece 21?

Mom told Cece, “I’ve got to tell you something: I’m pregnant.”

“I know,” Cece said.

“How did you know?” Mom asked.

“Cus you’ve never had boobs in your life!” said Cece.

I actually had that happen to me when I was pregnant with Desmond. Both my bosses knew I was preggy before I officially made the announcement because of all of my mysterious appointments (about which I was purposefully vague) suddenly cropping up.

Also, my diet shifted dramatically, from two protein shakes a day and mostly clean eating to foraging one of their offices for chocolate. It did not go unnoticed.

My female work friends were more direct: “So what does Derek think of your preggo boobs?”

So anyway, of course I’m never going to be massive in the breastal region. I’m insanely lucky to have what I have, which I imagine is roughly man-palm-size.

I think the US average was a C when I was in high school, putting me well behind the curve (pun intended) at the time, which was what was confusing me. But all you have to do is Google it. Duuuuuh.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I can stop inundating you with boobage. Now I can finally put the topic to breast–I mean rest (I know–terrible, but I couldn’t resist).

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