God's Gift of Motherhood or the Cruelest Joke Ever?

So I have been sick the last couple of days, violently vomiting back up anything I attempted to get down. A side affect was that I lost some weight.
As an already struggling breastfeeding mommy, this was worrisome, as I felt my boobs shrink drastically from their airy C-cup back down to their pre-maternity, prepubescent A's.
After two days of being sick, I took my shirt off for the first time and saw what I had been feeling: my boobs--which I have been enjoying for about a year now nice and plump--teeny, tiny, like little tweety birds, the right slightly smaller, if that is possible than the it's brother, the left. I know we women usually refer to our girls, as, well, girls, but in this case mine are so definitely un-feminine. They are little boys.
Yes, I am concerned about my milk supply, but that's not what I was having nightmares about last night--the horrible dreams consisted of having boobless sex with my husband who has also shown in no uncertain terms his support for the maternity size boob (I don't blame him one bit).
It makes me want to run out of the house right this instant and fill those jugs back up. It feels like the meanest joke ever.
The first time this happened (big boobs) when I was pregnant with Ethan, it all seemed like an incredible gift.
That was until six months later when they disappeared. It's like you get them just long enough to get really comfortable and used to them, you have all new bras, your shirts fit nicely, not to mention the routines that are set in place in mommy and daddy's bedroom- and then whammo--BYE BYE!
Only that first time it was gradual. Like a week or two. So I wasn't quite as devastated. I also think this second time around we made a bigger deal out of them because we were anticipating them before I even got pregnant, and we have really made the most of them throughout the pregnancy and first six months. And then, for them to be gone in a matter of forty-eight hours...I know it sounds so indulgent and incredibly materialistic but I feel like my identity has been altered.
I stood in the shower this morning looking down through the space that used to have two pretty lumps of flesh and felt like I had gone through some sort of surgery taking them away. I mean there's small, and then there's small. I am on the second end.
On the flip side, I put on my tightest fitting clothes and they feel great, seamless. I looked in the mirror and I looked like a ballerina.
Ballerina's can be sexy, right?
When my husband came home last night I broke the news to him-"My boobs disappeared honey, they are gone." I was too embarrassed to lift up my shirt and show him so I pulled my shirt tight around what's left of them and said, "See?"
He gave some sort of little smile which I don't know what it means and didn't say anything. Now maybe I wouldn't have had nightmares about our next boobless sexcapade if he would have said something a little reassuring like, "I still love you and your teeny, tiny boobies are adorable," (next time, dear) but it probably would have only calmed my own frantic insecurity for the following five seconds, until I looked in the mirror again.
It might be that I have a serious image disorder, and hell, I am no stranger to those, or this might just be something about motherhood for us small breasted sisters (and I don't mean my sisters; they seem to have got their fair share, the littler one especially) that is seriously messed up.
I got to experience the feelings of being voluminous and sexy in a new way. And it's not like I can just do something, like eat healthy or workout, and they will come back. In fact, they more I do those two things, the smaller they stay.
And it's not all about being hot and wanted by my hubby, at least two percent of it is feeling motherly and not so stinking stickly. I want Ethan to know the difference between laying his head on daddy's chest and laying his head on mommy's chest. I do.
I want to need a bra. I want to feel like a woman, not a nine year old.
I remember talking to some christian friends about this then quite taboo in my mind topic and me saying something holy like, "The best thing would be if we could just not care, and see our scars of motherhood (saggy tummies, saggy or no boobs, road-map stretch mark thighs) as things to be proud of". Oh would someone please give me a bowl so I can barf some more. I am so much more human than that. I want my mommy boobies back as soon as possible.