Betrayed by my Bra

So, I'm writing this blog exactly 69 days after the birth of my third child, Ella, and, after 22 days of my husband's sequestration (is that a word?) for training camp.
What prompted me to get online and get some thoughts out? Well, I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and thinking about how abysmal this new nursing bra is, and yet there is no one around for me to complain to. I don't think Ella gives a crap how my breasts look, as long as they continue to assist her in her mission to develop the chubbiest cheeks on Planet Earth.

But, back to my horrible bra. I bought it online from the Gap, which should tell you all you need to know right there. And now, my breasts look like two torpedoes aiming in opposite directions, with enough space between them to park the damn submarine. Lesson learned: don't buy bras online.

And like the genius I am, I threw the reciept away in my haste to get the dog poop scented garbage out of my house & into the ONE DUMPSTER in the entire apartment complex. I considered going back to the dumpster to retrieve my reciept (that's how bad the bra is) until it occurred to me that it is a trash compactor and no bra is worth risking being squished to death amidst countless plastic bags filled with dog shit.

As if having to wear this ill fitting disaster isn't bad enough, it's messing with my self esteem. How could this bra possibly be a C cup when there is enough material here to reupholster a couch? That leads me to believe that I"m carrying around 20 extra pounds of baby weight, and according to Gap, I'm not even be a C cup? Oh hell no! It clearly must be labeled wrong.