I didn't know they were big until I was trying on a friend's dress for my first prom. I was 17, had never been kissed, and was well on my way to being The Smoke Free Class of 2000's valedictorian.
The dress fit, so I wasn't sure why my mom and my friend look so surprised.
"Uh, I never quite filled it out like that," said my friend.
"Yes, they are quite, um, big," said my mom, as she held two imaginary watermelons in front of her chest. "Not sure where those things came from."
I stood still, like a Saved by the Bell, Zach Morris freeze frame. Sure, I'd been wearing a bra for some time. Sure, I wore larger shirts than my girlfriends. But no one had ever looked me in the...eyes and told me, straight up, that I had gigantic boobs.
I had no idea.
But since that moment, I have become, um, enormously aware of my chest.
No matter how much I exercised or lost weight, my breasts never got any smaller. My boobs just kept spilling out of bra cups until I landed (with a thud) at a 36 DD.
Oh, have I mentioned that I am barely five feet tall? I am terrible at math, but it just doesn't seem fair that I could--potentially-- fold up my legs, stuff them in my bra, and still have room leftover. Yikes.
Sometimes I wish I was still that naive 17 year old. Maybe then, I wouldn't wonder if a guy was talking to me for my brains or for my breasts. Maybe then, I wouldn't constantly worry that I'm showing too much cleavage, or that my tits are going to fall out of my jersey at a family-friendly bout.
Maybe if I wasn't so self-aware of my chest, I wouldn't have flinched and run away when the dude at Big 10 Tire told me that they "didn't have any available racks big enough" for my car. Hmm.
And then came the day I cut up my jersey to let my boobs breathe. Of course, I cut too much, and the result was me flashing them all over the rink at our last home bout. Maybe the crowd like it, but it was making me pretty nervous.
The thing is that my chest is always bouncing out of sports' bras. My boobs annoy me. They make my back hurt. They draw endless comments from friends and strangers. One time I caught a guy at a Wendy's trying to take a surreptitious picture of the ladies. Ew.
However, they are a part of me. When short and dark-haired don't work, my boobs serve as good identifiers. Sometimes I look at my chest and think, "Damn. These things are pretty hot." They are womanly and beautiful.
My teammates endlessly tease me about my jugs, but I've come not to mind. After discovering that my boobs didn't have a name, Amyn baptized them as "Very" and "Large." (Much more appropriate than "Cam" and "Newton," because they are the biggest things in the SEC.) I've discovered that because they are not getting any smaller, my only option is to poke fun at them myself...and just hope they don't jiggle too much.