TRUE-LIFE
Standing naked in front of my bedroom mirror, I squeezed my boobs, pushing them up until they were as full and pert as they once were.
‘I had fabulous boobs,’ I sighed.
Then I dropped my hands to my side and winced at the reflection of the sad, empty sacks I was left with.
It was January 1996 and I was only 17.
A year earlier, I’d been slim with a perky pair of 32Ds.
But then I fell pregnant and they’d shot up two cup sizes.
‘Your figure will ping straight back,’ mates told me.
But after my beautiful daughter Sasha was born, I’d battled with breastfeeding, suffering from endless bouts
