By Patricia Garcia, vogue
Many were left bewildered when Page Six reported back in July that supermodel and über human Gisele Bündchen
had supposedly sneaked into a Parisian plastic surgeon’s office in a
burka to have some “work” done on her breasts. The alleged work would
seem out of character for the hardcore yogi and natural-birth
spokeswoman, not to mention completely unnecessary.
[post_ads_2]
It’s
no secret that pregnancy and post-pregnancy can take a toll on anyone’s
body. The bitter truth is, no matter how many prenatal yoga classes you
attend or how much shea butter balm you apply to your stomach, once you
start carrying a baby, your body stops being your own and starts
expanding and changing in ways for which you’re not quite prepared.
Most
of the discussion around post-baby body image has focused on how
quickly a woman can slim down to her pre-baby weight. Magazines devote
entire covers to this subject, while trainers and nutritionists make a
killing off of it. Of course, many women point out that one of the
easiest ways to shed pounds is to breastfeed. Not only is it the best source of nutrition for a newborn, but, according to the American Pregnancy Association,
a breastfeeding mom can burn around 425 to 700 calories a day—without
ever having to set foot on a treadmill. Celebrities swear by it. Miranda Kerr
credited breastfeeding for speeding up her metabolism after she gave
birth to her son, while Bündchen said it helped her keep her figure and
“should be a worldwide law,” after the birth of her son in 2009. But
while women are quick to point out the many benefits of breastfeeding,
the truth of how badly it can wreak havoc on your breasts is rarely
discussed.
[post_ads]“Tube socks filled with a stack of
quarters,” is how one acquaintance described her post-breastfeeding
breasts to me. “Egg yolks dripping down a wall,” said another. A
coworker described hers as “deflated water balloons.” A friend confessed
over dinner: “Mine got so saggy, I actually don’t like to have sex with
my husband unless I’m wearing a bra.”
Anyone
who has breastfed will understand why breast lifts have been steadily on
the rise. According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, the
cosmetic procedure has increased by 75 percent in the last 10 years. Dr. Adam Kolker,
an expert in reconstructive plastic surgery in Manhattan, has witnessed
the surge over time. “It’s now a cornerstone of what we do,” he told me
by phone. “And the vast majority of our breast lift patients are new
moms.”
When I had just become pregnant with my
daughter, last year, the first noticeable change to my body was the
enormous growth of my breasts. Before the belly bump, before the
pregnancy glow, came a completely foreign set of boobs, courtesy of the
estrogen and progesterone swelling in my body. “Wait until you start
breastfeeding,” my cousin warned me. “Then they get completely out of
control.”
She
wasn’t lying. Once I gave birth, my breasts enlarged to epic new
proportions. I had to buy a new set of bras, and I now understood why
they call the period when your milk comes in as “engorgement.” For the
next few months, my chest would undergo a series of swelling and
shrinking transformations several times a day. One time, I dared to skip
a feeding to go out to dinner, and by the time I got home, my chest
resembled Pamela Anderson’s circa the Baywatch years.
[post_ads]The
constant expanding and contracting of the skin is to thank for the
eventual sagging. “When you’re pregnant, the glandular elements of the
breast get considerably larger, so you see an increase in one or two cup
sizes,” explained Dr. Kolker. “Postpartum, the breast gland goes back
down to the original size or ends up being a little less. Since the skin
stretches during the period of growth, there’s an increase in
discrepancy between the skin and the gland.”
After
I went back to work and started breastfeeding less, I noticed that my
body started going through yet another series of changes. My hair began
falling out by the handful, my freckles became darker, and, most
noticeably, my chest had gotten significantly smaller—and saggier. “I
was shocked when it first happened to me,” a friend told me. “I was so
naive. I actually went to the ob-gyn and asked him when they would go
back to the way they used to be.”
Another
friend, Alexandra, a mother of two, expressed downright regret when I
raised the subject with her: “I’ll probably get crucified for saying
this, but knowing what I know now, I might think twice about
breastfeeding again.”
[post_ads_2]
I have spoken with a few
moms who actually enjoyed the changes their bodies went through after
giving birth. A coworker who had her son 16 months ago loved the
diminished size of her once larger breasts and the fact that her nipples
were now “permanently perky,” because, she said, “they look much better
when I’m naked.” And my cousin, whose boobs changed little, said she
was actually grateful for the widening of her hips. “I had little curves
to begin with,” she explained, “so I like the fact that I have a waist
now.”
For the less lucky among us, the loss of a
once-buoyant chest can be incredibly difficult to accept. Maybe it’s so
hard because our breasts are a symbol of femininity and desirability,
and following the birth of a baby, it’s easy to feel the opposite of
both of those things. In any event, given that women have been giving
birth for, oh, a few hundred thousand years, I think that maybe, just
maybe, we can finally start being honest about what happens to our
breasts afterward. Alexandra, for one, wishes that she would’ve known
the good, the bad, and the ugly up front: “I would’ve made sure to
memorialize my pre-baby boobs with a tribute photo shoot—or at least
some good selfies.”
