Baby’s story

Today marks the 7 year anniversary of my first breast augmentation. It seems fitting that I use this date to share the story behind my choice, even as I am still working on understanding it completely.
**trigger warning- I’ll be talking about sexual assault (not rape) and the effects on me. Additionally I’ll be talking about my own body, using terms that I felt at the time. My words toward my own body are just that, my own for me. They are in no way meant to be taken as a statement towards someone else’s body.

Pre surgery, no bra


I’ll start by talking a bit about me and then go on to what changed. I was your average petite girl through school. By the time of my high school graduation, I was 5’1.5″ and 94lbs. In some ways I was an early bloomer; puberty started and appeared to end early. Breast buds started in elementary school but never passed that stage. I kept a boyish figure until my early 20’s, then I got a bit of curve to my hips.

Pre surgery, padded bikini top


Through school I dealt with the normal comments. “Itty bitty titty committee.” “Why do you bother wearing a bra?” And many more that were much more hurtful that I won’t put into writing. It was during this time that I had a life changing event. (*here’s where the talk about sexual assault starts, just a fair warning.) At the ripe age of 16, dating what was maybe the third person I had dated, I experienced a sexual assault. I was fortunate that it did not progress, but it left me feeling completely disassociated with my breasts. It was focused on my breasts alone.  My words of rejection were not respected. Being only 16 I handled it in the best way I knew how. I told my parents a partial truth and shoved it all aside in the deepest parts of my mind. Little did I know just how much I pushed aside and how this would change my views of my body.

Pre surgery, padded 32AA bra, empty gapping cups.


Years later I met the man that I would marry. Along with this came my first positive experiences toward sex and my own sexuality. My ideas about sex changed drastically and quickly, but there was a part still hidden deeply. I can’t express in words what I felt towards my breasts; but it was expressed in an extreme show of modesty, the fear of being seen or touched. I still struggle with modesty and feeling comfortable today.

My feelings of modesty and protection towards my breasts was something my husband respected, but questioned at the same time. It wasn’t until years later, after my first breast augmentation, that I told him some details of what happened to me.

After my first surgery, 397cc mod+


While in the military, my path crossed with someone who planned on having their breast augmentation after we returned from deployment. Following on her research I really started to consider it for me. I had initially discounted the idea of surgery as being too painful. However, after a stomach surgery with a long recovery I decided a beast augmentation couldn’t hold a candle on that and it would be worth it to love my breasts. That’s where I made a mistake. I knew I wanted to have a breast augmentation, but I hadn’t come to terms with the why behind the want and why I didn’t love my breasts.

After surgery, with complications


Having my surgery was good for me in a few ways. I went for an average implant size in a moderate plus profile. All was good until a few months in and  then it wasn’t. My left breast started bottoming out (settling too low) and the right healed in a way that left it oval shaped instead of round. I was going to need a second surgery. This time I spent a lot more time researching what look I wanted, for me.

The happiest I had been my first implants

With the need to revise in front of me I spent a lot of time looking at different augmented breasts, sizes and shapes. I decided to go with a uhp silicone implant to get the look and size that I wanted. Just three months after my revision I got pregnant. Planned, but earlier than expected. The changes of healing, pregnancy, and breastfeeding all worked to change my relationship with my breasts. I felt like the size was me. Breastfeeding gave them a purpose, pushed me to expose myself at home (an environment I am comfortable in), and forced me to associate with my breasts in a way I hadn’t before. Weaning took this purpose away and left an emptiness.

And today. And I love them.

And here’s where we are now. After weaning I bought my first Polish bras in my new size, and took a look at myself. I wore the same bras in a different size while nursing, but things were different now. During this time my husband was gone for a deployment, it was just me and my own feelings about my body. I guess you could say I did a little bit of soul searching. After a year away, my husband came home. I’ve learned to appreciate a new side to these boobs, the TMI side. 😉 With the movement to normalize breasts, breastfeeding and free the female nipple, the idea of the sexuality of breasts is becoming taboo. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn to see and love them for my own sexuality. This slow process has helped me break the remnants and disassociation having my breasts assaulted left behind. I am happy with them now. I love them for what they are. I see their many purposes. I do wonder how the future will change my feelings. A breast augmentation isn’t a one time thing, I know at some point in my life I will have surgery on them again, and hopefully it is many years down the line. My current implants are 4 years old, have been through pregnancy, breastfeeding, weaning, weight gain, weight loss. They have plenty of time left!

Ugly Betties

Before my surgery, you would never hear me talking about bras, or at least not with happiness or excitement.  If I did mention them to anyone, it was to moan and complain about how much I hated them, and my boobs.  Nothing ever fit.  I always had empty, gaping cups, or an awful (to me) pointy shape if the bra wasn’t padded.  Even while breastfeeding my daughter, the only one of three children I could successfully breastfeed, my boobs were ugly pointy reminders that I was deformed.

I always knew I looked different from everyone else.  I didn’t look like my Mom or my sister, or any of my friends that changed in front of me, completely free of inhibitions because they looked ‘normal.’  It wasn’t until I tried to breastfeed my first baby that I came to learn that not only were they ugly, but they were also useless.  They couldn’t even do what boobs are designed for.  I had nightmares about what I would do in a zombie apocalypse if I couldn’t get formula and feed my baby.  One night, at about 2 a.m. in a sleep deprived stupor, I realized that the can of formula I had just bought that day was expired.  I immediately drove to the grocery store where I bought it and pounded on the door until a poor unsuspecting night stocker opened the door and took the brunt of my wrath.  Fearing for his life, he exchanged the can and backed away slowly before calling the police, I’m sure.  I cried like a baby when I got back into my car because I shouldn’t have to buy formula!  I read all the books, I made sure every nurse on the floor where I delivered knew not to give him a pacifier.  I fed all day and all night.  I fed him until I was bleeding, but he still screamed.  When I realized that despite all my efforts, I was  essentially starving my baby, I was devastated.  My body had betrayed me, and there was nothing I could do about it.  One day I was watching a show about plastic surgery and a woman was having a consultation for a breast augmentation.  I noticed right away that her boobs looked like mine!  When the doctor told her she had tuberous breasts, and that it was a congenital defect,  I immediately looked it up online.  What I found were dozens of other women with stories just like mine.  It was comforting but it also made me hate my breasts even more.  I always wanted surgery to make them look more normal, but now that I knew they were actually deformed?  The idea of slicing and dicing them appealed to me even more.  For years I pled with my husband to have the surgery.  He hated the idea and didn’t want to talk about it.  Money was always tight anyway, so it just wasn’t in the cards.  I had my 2nd baby, and I didn’t even try to breastfeed.  My mom urged me to just try, but I couldn’t even talk about it.  I had a form of post traumatic stress over it.  I could not go through it again.  Then of course, PPD kicked in and I felt like a criminal for not trying.  When we started talking about having a third baby, I decided I would try everything I could to breastfeed, even if it only met some of the baby’s needs.  Through a lot of research, lactation consultants, herbs and tears, I was able to have a successful breastfeeding relationship with my 3rd and last baby.  When she was done nursing at almost 2 years old, I decided I was going to finally have surgery to correct my ugly Betties.  By this time my husband was on board, and we had the money to do it.  It was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.  Someday, if there’s interest, I’ll write a post in detail about the surgery process.

Fast forward to 3 months after surgery.  I met a group of women online that had an almost cult-like love of Polish bras.  Polish?!  Why?  I’ll tell you why.  If you size out of Victoria’s Secret which seems like the only place to buy bras (it’s not!) and you don’t want to wear something that looks like your ancestors who came through Ellis Island wore, you need a Polish bra.  They are a thing of beauty…and support!  They are beautiful, fit wonderfully (usually after some trial and error) and give amazing shape.  For some reason, a lot of bra makers think that if you’re larger than a D cup, you want to wear something called a “Minimizer.”  Um, nope!  I bought these bad boys, I want them on display!  I want cleavage and lift, and I want pretty colors, and fabrics!  Polish brands just get it.  They get that even women in a ‘N’ cup (yup, we’ve got one of those!) want a pretty bra, and they want it to fit without the cups coming up to their neck, or without wires wrapping around to their back.  If you’ve never heard of Polish bras, please do yourself and your boobs a favor and have a good look around here.  If you have heard of them, stay tuned for reviews of specific bras and brands and leave a comment about your favorites!


xo Treschic