The End of Puberty

The summer before 7th grade had to be one of the most depressing times in my life.

Do you know what it’s like watching all of your friends begin to grow in certain areas while you’re still checking every morning for even the smallest reason to wear a training bra? If you’re a dude, probably not. And while I have the dudes’ attention, this might be a good time to quit reading. You’ve been warned.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing that 13 year old Marie didn’t have access to Google. I can’t even imagine the searches I would have done back in 1996.

I spent most of my teen years feeling like God hated me because I wasn’t blessed with boobage. And then I bought a water bra and realized God didn’t hate me at all! Boobs were for the birds.

So I spent the last decade of my life being genuinely happy about the size of my chest. I could run and jump and wear tank tops without care. Life was good.

And then I got pregnant. And started nursing. And my boobs? Oh, my poor, poor boobs.

While I was pregnant they got bigger. Not insanely bigger like I was warned, though. But big enough that I spent a solid 15 minutes marveling at how different a sports bra looks when there are actual boobs in it.

Then I had Otis. When we were in the hospital the lactation consultant warned us that once the milk came in they’d be “impressive” and that husbands were always quite… impressed.

She didn’t mention that “impressive” is also “relative” because I’m pretty sure a B-cup isn’t that impressive. Unless you’re Mark, I guess.

More important than becoming “impressive”, breastfeeding can wreak havoc on the boobs. There’s engorgement and stretch marks and I don’t even want to describe what could happen to your nipples.

Thankfully, I’ve had very little discomfort. Except for one thing…

Me: Oh my gosh…

Mark: What? What’s wrong?

Me: My boobs are touching… my stomach.

Mark: So?

Yes, you read that correctly. My boobs could now touch my stomach. I finally understood why bras have underwire. And what that pencil test is all about. And that I had to remember to wash under my boob.



I get that this is a sensation most of you got used to when you were, oh I don’t know, twelve, but I’m just now coming to grips with this new part of my body.

I’m not really sure why I just gave you the entire history of my relationship with my boobs, but I’m happy to finally say, “Congratulations, Marie. You’ve completed puberty”.

5 thoughts on “The End of Puberty

  1. a says:

    wow, i’ve been enlightened. i never knew there was such a thing as a pencil test. and it does always look greener on the other side. i would have failed the pencil test by the 6th grade … and wasn’t happy about that.

  2. Rebecca says:

    Hahahaha. Oh, Marie. When I decide to have a baby, I’m calling you for advice first.

  3. lessie says:

    aaa! someone else does know what the pencil test is all about! ebf boobs are fun, because they are the first pair i’ve ever had that didn’t come off to be laundered.

  4. Dorie says:

    So I’m about 20 weeks pregnant and for the first time in my life my boobs are relatively impressive but I was horrified to wake up one morning to find “mom nipples” where my normally perfect nipples were located. I’m still not sure where I’ll manage to put them when I breast feed. I don’t know how my friends with giant ta-tas do this.

  5. […] talked plenty about not having boobs, but I haven’t talked much about being the mom of a Late Talker. And they’re […]

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