Standing naked in front of my bedroom mirror, I cupped my breasts, pushing them up until they were as full and pert as they once were.
‘I used to have lovely boobs,’ I sighed.
Then I dropped my hands to my side and winced at the reflection of the sad, empty sacks that 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.
‘ALL I WANTED WERE FULL BREASTS’
‘Your figure will snap straight back,’ my friends told me. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of having a baby so young?
But after my daughter