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WARNING: If you aren't comfortable with a little boob talk, do not read this post! However, if you are comfortable with it, I promise the awkwardness will be rewarded with a good laugh.

I have entered into that phase of pregnancy where I select random details to obsess over instead of acknowledging the overarching anxiety that comes with bringing a human being into the world. It's called a defense mechanism.

Yep, that's right. I was a counseling psychology major.

For example, it is much easier to worry about whether or not that backordered cradle will ever arrive than to worry about whether or not you'll ever get a good night's sleep again.

My latest obsession involves making sure I am fully supplied for our hospital stay and the first few weeks at home, and the current detail of note is the infamous nursing bra.

Let's just get it out in the open (pun intended): any clothing contraption that allows you to pop out a body part on a whim in order to feed another human being is just scary. What is even more scary to me at the moment is attempting to figure out my bra size. To put it nicely, the girls are quite a bit larger than they used to be, and knowing that they will only grow again after this kid arrives makes the whole sizing situation all the more intimidating.

I mean, how much further into the alphabet can my bra size go???

Don't answer that.

Last night, on the recommendation of a dear friend, I visited the website for Bravado nursing bras. They have a wonderful portion of their site dedicated to sizing, so I whipped out my trusty sewing measuring tape and got to work.

To make a long story short, my little sizing escapade resulted in me in the bathroom, whining to my husband while holding the girls and muttering something about being a freak of nature.

I blubbered to him about my sizing dilemma: my chest size (above the girls) and my rib size (below the girls) are a good three inches different (normally only an inch or so). You are supposed to take the larger measurement, and subtract that from your bust size (across the girls) to get your cup size.

Essentially, I ended up with a larger band size and smaller cup size than I am used to, which left me thoroughly confused.

At this moment, my husband looked at me and in the most matter-of-fact tone said: "Leslie, as your band size increases, your cup size should decrease."

You could see the lightbulb go off over my head, and all was right with the world again.

And that's when he said, "Why am I explaining this to YOU???? That's like you explaining the science of jock straps to me!"

As I realized the silliness of it all, I dissolved in a fit of laughter. My husband just explained the science of nursing bras to me. And he was right.

You know, those nurses at our parenting class last Saturday told all of us expectant moms to listen to our husbands, to trust their big-picture perspective, and to know that a lot of the time--for some unknown reason--new dads are right.

I can already see the wisdom in those words.

And it doesn't hurt that his good calls almost always come with a big dose of humor as well. I am so thankful for this Baby Daddy of mine, and there is no one I would rather start this journey with than him.