Bra Constrictor

I have spent the last few days thinking I must be pretty ill. I don’t have the sniffles, or any flu-like symptoms or a belly ache. What I do have is the feeling, as the day wears on, that I can not breathe. The day begins normally enough but hour by hour, even if I am doing nothing but lying in bed playing Sudoku, my lungs seem to shrink and I find myself gasping for breathe. Clearly, something is wrong.

Worrying about the numerous diseases I have convinced myself I must have, I head to the computer where the glorious Internet reinforces my fears. I punch, ‘trouble breathing’ into Google and the first thing it brings up is:

Breathing difficulty of any kind (or any kind of “shortness of breath”) is a potentially life-threatening emergency. It can indicate numerous dangerous causes such as heart attack, pneumonia, or pulmonary embolism.

Excellent. I am going to die.

Now not only could I be suffering from Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, but I am having a full blown Anxiety attack. I need to go lay down.

On my way to the bed, I pass a full length mirror. I look pale. Sickly. Weak.

I also have enormous breasts. Odd, I am thinking to myself, I don’t remember having that much cleavage when I got dressed this morning.

That’s when I clue in. I am weaning Kaya!

Which means nothing to you I suppose, unless you too have boobs and a baby. Then you get it. You get that feeding Kaya when she first wakes up, then not again until the evening means the breasts are filling, filling, filling with milky goodness. Hour by hour, they get bigger and bigger and bigger. Which means my bra gets smaller and smaller and smaller. Tight. Restrictive. Trouble breathing!

Which is not, I would like to complain, anywhere on the list of 502 possible causes of Breathing Difficulties.

503. Bra Constriction due to Engorged Bazoombas

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