When a Mom Stops Wearing Her Bra

Seven years ago I bought a pair of empire-waist sundresses off the clearance rack at Old Navy. At the time I was 9 months pregnant with my first child and on the hunt for something that would be “forgiving” to my postpartum body when we went on vacation. The dresses were sleeveless, with a deep v-neck and a cute little string belt that cinched them right under my ginormous boobs. It wasn’t until we got to vacation and I put one on that I realized I’d have to lift my entire dress over my head every time I needed to breastfeed my child.

Despite the rough start, the dresses have remained a staple in my summer wardrobe for two reasons. One – their lightweight cotton allows for a lot of air flow. Two – I can wear them without a bra. When you’re spending two weeks at the beach with in-laws that don’t believe in air conditioning, lightweight and bra-free is worth its weight in gold.

This summer I decided that I would forego a bra for my entire two week vacation, wearing only the sundresses and nothing else. It was a social experiment of sorts, partially to see how the world would react to my braless ways, and partially out of sheer laziness and a lack of space in the suitcase. Here’s what I found out about what happens when a mom stops wearing her bra:

1. She discovers she is not a MILF. You’d think that a giant pair of tatas swinging around unencumbered by underwires and padded cups would attract some attention. Think again. You wrap a five year old around your ankle and spill a bit of chocolate ice cream down your front and you might as well be invisible. I’m pretty sure that even if I’d somehow managed to pull a boob out of my v-neck, no one would have noticed.

2. Even her husband won’t notice. My husband had 14 days of easy access to my love puppies and he did not squeeze them, not even once. (Although maybe that is because his mother makes us sleep in separate beds…hmm, let me give this one some more thought.)

3. One of her boobs is not like the other. If I think back really hard, I can kinda remember that one of my boobs produced more milk than the other. When I stopped strapping them down for a bit, it became really, really obvious which boob had been the mass producer. Without their gravity-fighting weapons, my boobs slowly slunk down to their lowest level, which my five year old kindly pointed out was not the same. Thanks, kid. 

4. She rediscovers that bras are the devil incarnate. I know we all breathe that sigh of relief when we take off our bras in the evening, but try putting one back on after a two week hiatus. I had to wrangle my jihooblies back up towards my face and then somehow convince them to stay there, all while bobbing my hands on a sea of back fat fishing for a clasp. There was screaming and crying, and that was just when my kid accidentally walked in on me. #ScarredForLife

So what’s the end result of my experiment? There’s no doubt that locking my boobs away again in that lace straitjacket sucked, but discovering how much motherhood acts as a cloak of invisibility was worse. Whatever sexual attraction I had disappeared as soon as my nipples started playing footsy with my belly button. What I thought would be a lazy way to tantalize my husband turned out to be anything but.

It might take me a good ten minutes of pushing and prodding, but once the old gals take their seats in the balcony, I can forget that they used to moonlight as a snack machine. More importantly, my husband and that cute DILF down the street can too. While it might be fun to take a hiatus now and again, I don’t think I’ll be turning in my Victoria Secret charge card anytime soon.