Now, before I get started, I want you to jog your memory and think of something that embarrassed you recently. It could be a story worthy of Another Mother Runner's TMI Tuesday or something that happened at work. But think of something and hold it there, in the front of your mind.
Onto the story ...
Apprehension – and not much else – filled the restaurant on Saturday night. The storm was just hours from arriving, and those who were filling the booths at Bob Evans were out to dinner while they could get out. Conversations were quiet and the usual hustle-and-bustle of a restaurant were muted, nearly non-existent.
It proved to be perfect for us, as we joined my father-in-law for dinner. It was an unusual treat but he was flying solo, as my mother-in-law in Colorado, and he had offered to take us out.
The conversation skipped and jumped, from the storm preparations and mayhem to Miles chatting about the books he had gotten from the library. As we finished dinner, the topic was firmly settled on running – what I wore and, by accident, the state of my chesticles.
I was recapping the afternoon's 7-miler when my father-in-law asked whether I had purchased any new clothes for pregnant running. Not really, I replied. I have been making do with unisex race shirts and forgiving capris (turned tights with Pro Compression socks). The only area I had invested – and not so wisely– I admitted, was in the foundation department.
Now this is where I tell you a little bit about my father-in-law: He has a medical background and worked in the emergency room for many years. Though he is now a college instructor, he still teaches clinicals in a hospital. He has seen things that people don't need to see – many of which he has shared at dinner. The light-hearted might not appreciate it but I find it crudely fascinating. Anyway, his experience makes him inquisitive and clinical when talking about the human body, even if it is that of his daughter-in-law.
And so, unsurprisingly, he asked me what I meant. Unthinking, I went on to tell him that I had purchased new sports bras earlier in the pregnancy to accommodate the growth of the chesticles. However, they are still growing and the once suitable bras no longer work, resulting in some uncomfortable chafing. I had – and still have – several inch wounds on the bottom of each from my favorite C9 bra rubbing me the wrong way.
The offending style ...
"How much?"he asked.
I gave him an estimate of $40 to $50 a bra, and he gave me a command. I was to go get one and give him the receipt. It wasn't good for me to continue with the chafing, he said, going into how the areas could get infected and with the infection certain things would happen ... medical speak, medical speak, medical speak. I thanked him and mentally flogged myself for opening that can of pus.
But, the story isn't over. Later that evening, my father-in-law called. He had been talking with his wife about my "situation" and she said that I shouldn't get a bra – I should get two.
And here is where I felt embarrassed: Not only did I have a conversation about my boobs with my father-in-law but he, in turn, had a conversation about my boobs with my mother-in-law. And, if I was a betting woman, I'd bet the information was shared with our Colorado kin.
The upside is that I do get two sports bras out of all my flushing and blushing. My BFF has suggested several Moving Comfort styles that have been helpful to her.
But I'm happy to take input from folks who are in the D cup+ sizes as to which styles are comfortable, supportive and non-offending.