I know you read that heading and thought ‘STFU Steph, stop moaning about your ample bosom’ But you my friend, aren’t carrying them around 24/7! I’m only 5 feet tall.

Some days, when my fibromyalgia is flaring, or my period is due, I have to physically hoist one arm under each tit and carry them because it hurts to wear a bra.

I suffer from a secondary condition called allodynia which basically means your skin hurts at the slightest touch. This can occur anytime but more so during a flare up, clothes irritate me and it’s been known to leave me in tears when having to put on a bra.

I weighed the ‘girls’ last year, kneeled on the floor and hoisted them up on to the coffee table, then onto kitchen scales. They weighed over 3kg each (almost 6lbs each) my best friend’s twin babies only weighed 10lb between them, born.

I know some people would kill to have boobs and I empathise, but 32HH is way beyond a couple of coconuts. These are more like watermelons filled with sand!

I wish there was a thing where someone who wanted a boob job could have a share of someone’s who wanted a boob reduction. Sharing is caring, after all!

I’ve listed a few of the ‘cons’ of having huge boobs, because the world and it’s wife seems to think they’re a necessity to prove your femininity. They really aren’t! For me they are nothing but a pain in the back!!

1. Bras are ridiculously expensive and only come in shit colours. Sometimes I can’t find my size at all unless it’s in nude and has a fuck off separater in the middle. Cleavage? Not a chance.

2. They weigh a shit ton! Mentioned it already but the struggle is real.

3. They sag. Yep, they might look all plump and perky with a decent T-shirt bra but wait until that fucker comes off.

4. Tops have to be bought 3 sizes bigger than your actual size.

5. They make you look bigger than you actually are. Especially if you’re short like me, you just tend to look round.

6. Pregnancy makes them even bigger, and the pain!! O.M.F.G!!

7. I found it really hard to carry Ciara when she was small, especially in a sling, as they can’t snuggle into your chest very well. The suffocation risk is real.

8. I can’t sleep on my back or front.

9. Even with an amazing sports bra, exercise is really uncomfortable. The weight alone makes movement hard.

10. If you wear the slightest V-neck you get accused of having your tits out.

11. You literally NEVER eat a meal without getting some stray gravy down them, or lose a grain of rice or 6 to your cleavage.

12. Sometimes men don’t look at your face when they’re talking to you.

13. Lumps and malignancy can be harder to spot as big boobs tend to be ‘lumpy’ by default.

Below are some of the questions I get asked often. Why don’t you….

1. Lose weight? A: My boobs have never, in the history of any diet I’ve ever been on, shrunk in size. But yes, I could make more effort to lose a few lbs.

2. Wear a sports bra all the time? A: Well the allodynia wouldn’t cope well for starters, but also have you seen how ugly those things are? I’m already resulting to nude or black bras given that it costs over £50 for one bra, give me a break.

3. Get a boob job? A: I can’t afford one. My doctor isn’t that understanding of the big boob thing being an actual problem (even though I’m only 5ft tall and completely out of proportion) probs because she has small tits. Basically, I’d have to go in there every week for a year to be considered for NHS work. Also it’s a really invasive op and given that I have a disease that affects my body’s ability to recover, I could become really poorly. That being said, if someone offered to pay for it or I won the lottery I’d have it in a heart beat.

4. Just embrace them. A: been doing that for years and the older I get, the heavier they get. I’m tired of embracing, I want to be free.

5. Cover them up!! A: Ok Sue, why don’t you try covering your head? One of my tits is bigger than your noggin so it’s no easy feat.

I try really hard to be ‘body positive’ but there’s so much I wish I could change, not everything, but boobs would definitely be the first. I preferred them when I was younger and pre parenthood, because at least then they were perky and gravity hadn’t defied me.

Shaun (my fiancé) isn’t even a boob man, I won’t tell you what his preference is, nor does he dislike boobs, but he says he’d love me with or without them (I didn’t have a gun to his head either.)

Imagine the pleasure in not having to wear a bra, or at least being able to take a trip to La Senza for some ditsy two piece, instead of a matron contraption from a plus size store. Did you know most shops only stock large cup sizes with large backs? Being that I’m only a 32 back can make it an impossible haul, there’s no joy in underwear shopping her! Ann Summers don’t even stock my size!! Lingerie shopping for me is the equivalent of food shopping on a diet. Soul destroying and bland.

I wish to every god everywhere there was a boob bank, but sadly we don’t have the option to swap like football cards. Maybe one day in the far away future, but for now, looks like ‘putting up’ in the literal sense, is what I’ll continue.

Thirty one. 31. Thirty-one.

Thirty-fucking-one.

That’s how old I am now. I didn’t expect to get to this ripe old age and be unemployed, overweight and cleaning up toddler piss on the reg, but there was also a time, during the dark days, I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to thirty one at all.

On my twenty first birthday I was in Portugal smoking 30 fags a day, arguing with an ex boyfriend about my top being too low cut. I was a size 8 (yes really) with FF boobs. Mate, I couldn’t wear anything that didn’t look low cut.

Now I’m a HH boob and a ‘too big for the tape measure’ waist’ so when I wear low cut tops now I just look fat and slutty, instead of the sexy and slutty I once was. Oh well. Those size 8 days never did gain me the kind of attention I needed.

Back then, I didn’t have to worry about gunts and cellulite, just depression and anxiety, along with a side of one too many hangovers, to ramp it up a bit. The last 10 years have been rough on my body, I’ve developed an illness, I’ve carried a child that damn nearly killed me, and I’ve been reliant on medication that makes you fat. So here I am, overweight, gunts galore, frown lines for dayssss and a tits that hit my belly button without a bra.

Whilst I’m here complaining about the inevitable ageing process I’ve missed out all the other bits that have led me to being here today, writing this here blog.

A relationship breakdown, another one we don’t mention because it was so royally fucked up and soul destroying that even to this day it angers me to be reminded of it, a couple of arrests, a suicide attempt, a few jobs, a fluctuating number on the scales…. and then came the turning point that was meeting my Shaun. (Queue corny insert) When I met Shaun I’d kind of sorted myself out, but only because rock bottom was higher than where I’d been. There was still an anger inside me though, it’s always been there, bubbling away, ready to turn into molten lava the minute someone barges me in the post office queue. If we’re being totally honest, it’s still there, but don’t worry, I’ve learned (most of the time) to keep it under wraps.

Shaun took me on a journey I hadn’t been on before, one that was kind, without the need for ferocious insecurities and full blown barneys down the local on a Friday night. I was feeling positive and ready to be better.

My step on the career ladder was under footing and life was good.

Then came Ciara, and for a while the insecurities were back with a vengeance! So forceful were they, I didn’t know how to control them, so I went into counselling, I took anti depressants and papered over the cracks, because as mum’s that’s what we do right?

It was only last year when nearly losing my own mum, life taught me lessons I didn’t know I needed to learn. One of them that really sticks in my mind is ‘life’s too short‘ cliché huh? That’s as maybe but to me it’s never been clearer. I needed to get happy and feel it! I mean really feel it!

So that’s what I did! Sure not everything was a choice, some of the decisions I’ve made in the last 6 months have been forced upon me, but how I react to those unwanted scenarios has changed. I’m finding the best bits and holding onto them. I’ve relieved myself of toxicity and I’m surrounding myself with genuine people, I’m doing things I enjoy, like writing more and learning new things, I’m parenting better and I’m genuinely happier than I’ve been in years. So whilst I’m a bit on the chubby side, the frown lines are legion, Bristol’s are sagging, I’m making small steps to a better life and instead of just sitting back and wishing, I’m trying hard to put all these feelings I’m full up with, to positive use. Yes I’m still a bit psycho, especially this week as I’m hormonal and pretty sure fibro is rearing its ugliness, but most of the time I’m levelled up. I’m almost medication free, I’m actively looking for work that fits around us as a family regardless of salary, and I’m trying to find ways everyday to be better. I can lose the weight (I hope) but I can’t lose sight of what’s important and that’s every single day, each morning I wake up to a beautiful (if a little moody sometimes) Ciara, and a lukewarm cuppa from Shaun.

I know it’s corny as, but I feel so lucky. Thirty one maybe my age, but I feel like my life’s only just getting started.

Is it normal for your two year old to pull away from you? Is it just another phase?

These are questions I’ve been asking myself since the Christmas break began. I think I already know the answer, it being that, there’s been a disturbance to her routine, she’s been spoiled and is pushing boundaries, but that doesn’t make me question myself any less.

I’m still constantly wondering if it’s something I’m doing wrong? Does she just prefer other people to me? Why won’t she listen? Where’s the logic in her dropping something, then throwing herself on the floor in tantrum, instead of just picking it up? Why does she refuse to give me a kiss goodnight? She only seems to want daddy to put her to bed these days.

Every time we’ve taken her anywhere nice these last few weeks, to see Santa, Longleat to the festival of light, she’s acted like a brat. Refusing to walk, put her coat on, you know, the usual insanely annoying things kids do. 6 months ago, she couldn’t talk so I understood her tantrums were because of the lack of understanding from us. Now though she is quite able to tell us when she doesn’t like something. I’ve found myself in tears of sadness and complete frustration over the last week or so! I’ve been angry and upset all at once. Someone said to me once, I think it was my sister in law, that kids can push your buttons like nobody else on Earth. I wondered at the time how you can allow yourself to get so worked up over a child, now I see. Now I see in all it’s glory, how fucking excruciating being a parent can be. How clueless you are left daily, how the guilt eats you from the inside out and you never truly trust your own instincts. Even when you know you’re doing the right thing, a seed of doubt still appears and sows itself into your psyche.

I couldn’t love my daughter anymore if I tried. She is my everything and rarely at the age of two does she understand the need to reciprocate my love. I know she isn’t intentionally setting out to stress me out, she’s two for god’s sake, but it irks nonetheless.

My reason behind this post was to let other mums know it’s ok to love your kids fiercely with every ounce of your being, and it’s also ok to think they are little knobheads every now and again. It’s ok to flip the bird when they aren’t looking, or roll your eyes, or text your bestie to say you’re throwing them out the window! (FYI- this is only ok if you have no actual intention of doing so)

What I’m saying is, you’re going to feel guilty pretty much for the rest of your life now, I’m told that’s 50% of what being a mum is! So allow yourself a meltdown. You’re still a good mum. Your kid might not like you today, but she also didn’t like fish fingers last week, but they are her favourite again this week!! Kids are fickle. It’s down to us as parents to second guess their every move and accept them, flaws and all. And as they grow they too accept us with our own flaws.

My toddler doesn’t hate me, I’m just not her favourite this week, and that’s ok. Because I’m her mother first. ❤️

Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I guess I should share a bit about myself and why I decided to write a blog in the first place.

I’m 30 years old. I have a daughter who’s 2 and 1/2 and a partner who’s 35. We live in Bristol, after having lived in the beautiful City of Bath our whole lives we decided to move to Bristol when the opportunity for a home swap came up, earlier this year.

Before I had my daughter in 2016 I endured a long, painful and dark pregnancy that I was sure was going to kill me after causing me a nervous breakdown. And when I was told at 37 weeks I had preeclampsia, it nearly did.

I hated being pregnant, detested it. The shame I felt over not being ‘grateful’ for this ‘gift’ really damaged my mental health. I was immobile due to SPD (Symphis, pubic, dis function) I had to give up the things I enjoyed, like smoking and drinking and I hated it. I felt constantly sick and was often incapacitated with migraines. From 16 weeks I was on crutches and the depression continued.

When my beautiful baby girl was born, I was sure that would be the end of the stress, I was not only naive but stupid too. Of course the stress vamped up and colic started.

For 12 hours a day every day my kid screamed. She screamed so loudly our neighbours had to come and check she was ok, more than once. My partner and I almost killed each other, I couldn’t wait for time away from her, of course prompting more guilt.

Then something amazing happened, she turned 6 months old, she started sleeping, napping twice a day and laughing. And that laugh, that tiny little cackle of a laugh is what saved me. What saved our family.

Our little darling still has tantrums, screams, hits, throws herself on the floor, you know, the usual. But it doesn’t matter, because nothing, nothing, is as bad as the colic was.

Since having our daughter our family bond has cemented. We are a family of three and we’re thriving in love and Paw Patrol.

Her eating habits are shit, she never shuts up and she often has a meltdown if you give her the wrong coloured cup, but she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Cliché but so fucking true.

I’ve always loved to write, it’s served as an outlet for me throughout my life. In my teen years it was dark poetry and gritty half novels, and in my adult years it’s been my thoughts, life events and opinions.

My dream is to one day be able to say I’m a writer in response to somebody asking me what I do.

After our daughter was born I got diagnosed with fibromyalgia a neuropathic pain condition that affects our neurotransmitters and how our brain perceives pain.

Some days I am unable to get out of my bed, carry my child, cook a meal, some days I can’t even take a shower, but still I fight. The fight is long, and I often feel like giving up, but instead I write. I write everything down, from the good to the ugly. I use Instagram and Facebook to spread awareness of causes close to my heart.

And that’s about it really, I don’t smoke anymore but I am a professional vapour. I’ve replaced wild nights out with copious amounts of tea drinking and I love, love, love, to read.

On that note, I hope you enjoy reading my blog.

Steph

Xxx