Week 7 starts tomorrow.
To Week 6: Good-bye, and good riddance.
I know. Week 7 will probably be worse. But a girl can dream.
Week 6 was a week of gag reflexes, fatigue, and growing, aching boobies. I felt awful, and this was reflected in my lack of productivity in work and in life.
I had to go bra shopping yesterday because my old bras seem to have become even more ill-fitting than usual. Apparently, though, my boobs haven't grown. They've just gotten a lot thicker. More turgor pressure, I guess you'd say. But I did learn that I've been wearing the wrong bra size all these years--something I'd always suspected. But boob-measuring ladies always told me the same size, a size that never felt right.
So a nice boob-measuring lady at Dillards, Jane, measured me, and said, "Honey, you're a 32DD." 32DD?!? I'd measured myself once and had come to that conclusion, but the Victoria's Secret boob-measuring ladies always gave me a funny look and said, "No way are you a DD." Victoria's Secret doesn't carry much in the size, anyway. Which is probably why they told me I was a 34C.
So Jane, who was about my height and build, said, "Actually I wear a 32DD, too." I looked at her and thought, "No way are you a DD." So I guess we 32DD's don't look so big after all. But we are. We're secretly big.
Anyway, I tried on the 32DD bra, and it worked! It fit me way better than the 34C's that the Victoria's Secret folks convinced me I needed. It's also stretchy and adjustable, which means I should be able to wear it for a little while longer befor the girls burgeon into something even bigger.
This afternoon, Sheltowee and I are going to go on a hike. I'm going to fill my backpack up with about 25 pounds of gear and see how it feels on me (i.e., see how the shoulder and sternum straps feel on the girls).
My poor Sheltowee. Good thing he's willing to make the sacrifice and go hiking with me today, just so I can see if my boobs are up to 7 days on the Foothills Trail.