If These Boobs Could Talk- More Than Fun Bags

I have finally found and understood my purpose in life.  Most people never get that and yet, I have.  And I'm just a pair of boobs.

B@@bies.  Jugs.  Fun Bags.  Hooters.  Tits.  Ta-tas.  Knockers.  Rack.  Bazongas.  I've got a lot of names, a lot of incarnations, and a whole lot of varieties.  Breasts, no matter what you call me, pretty much every woman has me front and at least sort of center on her chest. Perky, droopy, apples, melons, socks with rocks, long, full, short, floppy and everything in between, I've been bouncing along for as long as humans have traipsed around this planet.  Which is a long time.  But every woman has to figure out what to do with me at one point or another and it isn't always easy.  It has been vogue at various times of history to leave me free and unfettered under clothing, to push me up and out, to bind me tight and flat, to pierce me, paint me, hide me and flaunt me.  In some cultures I'm always out and open, others I'm so revered I'm covered yet a peek is desperately sought so much so there are men that will even pay money for it.

Before they have their own pair, every little girl at least notices that the adult version of herself has some sort of extra padding on her chest, something her male counterparts do not have.  These chest pillows are fascinating and in today's western cultures a bit of an obsession.  As little girls grow they start experimenting with what they'd look like with soft round growths on their chest.  I am the mark of woman.  Not alone in that responsibility, I share the distinction of being uniquely feminine with the female pelvis and vagina.  With the exception of man-boobs.  But for everyone's comfort, we'll pretend those don't exist, anywhere.  Ever.  Before I begin to develop on immature females, they play that I am there just because it is synonymous with playing a grown-up.

Then they sprout their own pair, slowly or quickly breasts eventually appear.  Confusing feelings mingle with my advent on a changing girl's chest.  Pride and excitement about becoming a woman collide with embarrassment and a desire to stay a care-free child.  Eventually she learns that in western cultures breasts equal a certain kind of power, one she may not be comfortable wielding or one that is wielded against her.  Her breasts may feel like a burden regardless of their size or like a defining part of her personhood that she can use to her advantage.

As for me, I was just an average pair of smallish boobs, situated on a small framed woman that often wished I was bigger.  To make matters worse, one of my nipples was a split nipple, malformed and strange looking.  Her dissatisfaction with my size and shape led to uncomfortable bras to pad me out and push me up and I endured criticism every time she looked at me in a mirror.  No matter what I did, what I wore or how I participated in lovemaking, fashion and life she was unhappy with me.  She never knew what to do with me and I never knew what to do with myself.  I was inadequate.

Until one day.  There had been change, I had grown recently but she still wasn't satisfied, now I managed to be too big or too... something.  No matter what I wasn't good enough.  My bigger size included painful growing and she was distracted by other physical changes that were apparently far more important than me, the neglected, the unloved ones.  That is until that day.  The uterus and vagina, in one of their greatest moments of achievement produced a baby.  As the placenta left the uterus I got a signal, one that changed me forever: feed baby now.  I had already been producing a golden yellow liquid for which I saw no purpose and caused her even further disgust in me but when that baby came out and was placed on the belly, I knew.  Arms drew this small person close and the baby's mouth immediately began searching for something: me.

In no time it became clear that I was this baby's favorite thing in the world.  Every chance she got she latched on to me.  She loved me.  She didn't care if I was perky or sagging, smooth skinned or flecked with red stretch marks, if I had large or tiny nipples, or even that one nipple wasn't quite right.  She had a special sign for me, and that was the first sign she ever used.  It took us some time, the 2 or really 3 of us, but it was really just getting used to each other and figuring out how this works.  There were some rough moments, a few tears and frustrated words but we got it, we worked it out.  We had to.  Because this was what we were made for.

Now I have a position of respect and I am celebrated.  Five babies now have been nourished by me, have searched for me in their sleep, patted me as they suckled and asked for me by their special name.  I have comforted a small one hundreds of times over when nothing else would do.  Through me has flowed the healing power of sweet milk custom made for the baby whose mouth opened expectantly.  Small cheeks have rested on me in slumber after I have satiated their hunger and their need to be warm and close.  When I am seen in the mirror I am viewed sometimes critically but always with appreciation and I am treated tenderly.  My purpose is clear, everything else I do is nice and I enjoy a full and active life but nothing has fulfilled me as much as feeding a baby. 

Some day this job will be done and I will no longer feed babies.  I am ok with this; for when one finds and understands their purpose and the time in which it is served, one can accept when that time is over, satisfied in having discovered and served a purpose at all.  Knowing that I was more than an inadequate pair of fun bags and meant the world to 5 little girls is enough for me.

Not every pair of breasts will find their purpose the same way I did but I hope more and more do.  It doesn't matter what you call me, what I'm dressed in, what society says I'm supposed to look like or what my role is, I'm happy.  I have been appreciated, loved and enjoyed for who I really am.

P.S. I love this video.

8 Unexpected Benefits of Breastfeeding

Though it is the biologically normal way to feed a baby not every one is sure about breastfeeding.  The beauty of breastfeeding is often touted to encourage moms to give it a try because if they knew how amazing it is even the most unsure would at least think about breastfeeding.  Everything from health benefits to ease of use, breastfeeding is praised for the dream infant nutrition system it is.  These are good things and we should promote them but over the years I've discovered a few, shall we say unexpected benefits of breastfeeding?  Sure, it's great that breastmilk can do things like reduce a woman's chance of breast cancer, boost a little baby's immune system, and even have stem cells in it but I bet you didn't know breastfeeding can be an orgasm alert!  Oh yeah, there are some seriously good unexpected benefits from something so normal as breastfeeding.  I'm going to do my part in encouraging women to give breastfeeding a go with 8 Unexpected Benefits of Breastfeeding.
 

1.  The best excuse to sit around
Don't feel like making dinner? Gotta feed the baby!  For the last 10 months I've made breakfast maybe a dozen times all because Smunchie needs her breakfast too and the next thing I know The Piano Man has coffee and either eggs and toast (or a frittata, yum) or pancakes going.  Oh darn, sorry sweetie, I was planning on getting that started just as soon as I could.  I was stuck on the couch feeding a poor, helpless little baby!

2.  Escape plan A 
Trapped in a conversation with someone you want to get away from?  Oh dear, baby's hungry!  I don't believe women need to worry about being discreet about breastfeeding in public but if one suddenly feels modest and needs to go sit some place quiet to nurse nobody will blame you and you can get away from the uncomfortable conversation with Whatshername Won'tstoptalking.

3.  The kitchen fall back plan
Making pancakes but ran out of milk?  No worries!  And if you don't tell anybody they may all wonder what you did different that made your flapjacks so much more yummy.  Don't tell them until after they're done though, seems even children that grew on your milk before can become squeamish at the idea years later.  And hubs won't know if it's the creamer in his coffee either.

4.  Bigger B@@bs!
It's true a woman's breasts usually increases in size during pregnancy and remains that way or bigger while lactating.  You may not have ever cared if you got bigger boobs but it is still interesting to see them change, never a dull moment!

5.  BUSTin' at the seams = SHOPPING!  
Legit reason to go shopping, nothing fits right!  Those bigger boobies need to be comfortable and showcased properly, get the attire to do it in style.  Time to hit the racks or the online boutiques and buy yourself some stylish wear to dress the ladies in and it's totally real, you actually do NEED new clothes you can nurse in!

6.  Weapons of mass destruction 
Make me mad?  Yeah, I wouldn't do that, I could whip one of these full C-cup babies out and with a little squeeze blow you to smithereens.  Or at least get you wet and sticky.  Don't put it past me either, you never know what will set me off.

7.   Double Alarm- well, hello Big O. 
Your partner not sure when you've have an orgasm?  You'll boost his confidence when you come with a double set of sprinklers spraying all over the place.  Many women experience milk spray from their lactating breasts when the orgasm.  Don't let it rain on your parade, enjoy the new twist on doing the deed!

8.  Cure-all in a cute package 
Baby got a blocked tear duct?  Squirt a little breastmilk in her eye.  Diaper rash?  A breastmilk rinse and then some naked time will clear that up in no time if it's not a yeast based rash.  Cut?  Ready, aim, squirt!  You guessed it, a little spray of breastmilk on the area and watch it heal in record time.  From acne to ear infections, breastmilk has amazing healing properties!  People, it has stem cells in it, breastmilk is the stuff modern medicine wants to be when it grows up!  And for more amazing health science on breastmilk try googling HAMLET (all caps) and breastmilk.  Prepared to be wow'd.

9.  Facebook/Twitter/Blog/Surfing time
I admit it, most of the time when I'm on some social media networking site I probably have a baby attached and if I'm lucky and she's really hungry I can stretch it long enough to get caught up on all the people I follow or even write a blog post.  It's called NAK (Nursing At the Keyboard) but it could also be called NeTCFToN (Need To Check Facebook Time to Nurse) because how else would I find the time?  A Leaky's got to do what a Leaky's got to do.  (Are you a Leaky?  Go like our Facebook page and join the fun!)

Oh rats, that was 9.  Now it sounds like I just couldn't come up with one more for a nice round 10.  Oh well.

Not only have my boobies given me healthy babies they've also healed rashes, bought me time to sit, and given me an excuse to shop for new clothes.  There is a lot of wonderful stuff about breastfeeding and I'm a fan but even I don't love every second of every breastfeeding session.  I tell you what though, I sure do love The Piano Man making me breakfast while I get my Tweet on.

The Perfect Breasts- World Breastfeeding Week guest post

For our WBW blog carnival on "Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle" we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we are honored to share from Wendy T., 39 year old tandem nursing mama to two beautiful boys.


I never loved my breasts. They were never big enough, never pert enough, and my nipples weren't good enough. I don't think I really knew what a “good” nipple was supposed to look like, but the few I caught a glance of certainly didn't look like mine. And of course, mine definitely didn't look like the ones I saw in magazines. The only thing I liked about them was that they were small enough to allow me to go bra-less on hot days. Oh, yeah, and I didn't have to wear a really expensive sports bra when I ran.

I was even apologetic about them. Well, I never really said “I'm sorry my breasts aren't good enough” to anyone, but I did sort of, kind of, try to make sure they weren't the main attraction for any of my partners. I thought that if I was thin enough, if my legs were toned enough, and if maybe my arms didn't jiggle, then nobody would notice my breasts.....or lack thereof. And cleavage? I didn't have any. Not even when I pushed them as far together as I could while leaning forward in an awkward position and looking up into a mirror to see if that might be a good look for me. It wasn't.

I eventually gave up really even thinking about them. And then I got pregnant. And I got boobs! But then I got a big belly and wide hips and waddled a bit. But I still had boobs. They were awesome. You couldn't miss them. I had more cleavage than the centerfold in a girly magazine. I even had to make sure I dried underneath them after a shower. Boobs. My husband loved them. Probably would have built a little altar in their honor if I had let him.

And then my first son was born. And he loved them too. He worshiped at their altar. Every hour, on the hour, for an hour....for months. He was a boob man. He talked to them, cooed at them, fondled them. He's thirty three months old and he still loves them. Still talks to them, but uses big boy words. He has sort of stopped cooing at them, but does gaze lovingly at them. He isn't allowed to fondle them so much anymore though. Never realized my boobs would be such a big hit that I'd have to write policy for them, create rules, and place limitations on them.

Then my second son was born. He loved them too. He's not the boob man that his brother was, but he enjoys them nonetheless. The first time they nursed together was when my oldest was 2 years old and my youngest was 2 days old. They held hands and nursed. One was new to the game and one was an old pro. They are still nursing together at thirty three months old and nine months old. They don't hold hands so much as one pulls hair while the other tries to fend off the hair puller. It's my favorite time with them and their quietest time with each other.

There was a nurse in our hospital room when my second son was just hours old. She watched him latch on. She turned to my husband and said, “she has perfect breasts”. I do. Absolutely, I do.

A Little Let-down.

Alright Boobies, we've got to have a talk.

First of all, let me start off by saying you are awesome. Totally amazing. I'm impressed and really consider myself super blessed that, though you are of modest proportions, you can totally provide all the food Smunchie needs right now. Not to mention the 4 babies before her. And it's not just any food. It's super food! The acai berry thing advertised all over the place doesn't hold a candle to the goodness you provide. Plus there will be no "it's not as great as we thought" scandal happening about your goods. Nope, you are the real thing. You rock! No really, sometimes you are a pair of rocks. But figuratively, you rock too.

However, there are few aspects of your awesomeness that we need to work on.

• Not all babies are your babies. It is sweet really, that you want to be sure every baby you come into contact with isn't going to go hungry, really it is. But other babies have mommies and I'm sure they are feeding them. So it's not your job. No need to be "all systems go!" upon spotting a little person under the age of one year old. You need to calm down.

• Crying does not need to be an automatic on switch! I get it. It is a design thing. Baby cries and you start leaking, an instant response to the call for food. I wish chocolate would dispense like that for me but alas, that would probably be a bad thing. Coffee probably should do that for me. You don't have to do this. Not all crying means "feed me!" And not all cries come from your baby. For real. This can stop. Our baby has gotten quite good at getting the milk out of you now, you don't have to go soaking through my shirt in an attempt to silence all cries.

• You are highly suggestible. Words like "leak," "leaky," "breastmilk," "nursing," etc. do not mean "faucet. on. now." Aaaaaaaaaaaand, somebody looking at you is not another signal for you to get to work. I know, I know, sometimes people look even when you're covered and put away and while I find it a little confusing myself, it is most likely just curiosity. Though I have to admit your size is significantly more noticeable in your current lactating state than we normally have. But not everyone who checks you out is looking for a free instant meal! In fact, most would be rather grossed out if I offered. So please stop that.

• This last one is a little, well, intimate. I'm thrilled that you still enjoy the whole "other side" of your potential. That you can understand being both a feeding machine and sex goddess is really awesome. Thank you for still being willing to have fun. There's just one request I have regarding that. If I'm going to get to have sex without a bra on you have got to stop spraying all over the place just when it gets really good! Oh my gosh! Girlfriends, that is... so... freaking... annoying. I understand your excitement, good grief I'm excited too but in that time and place, in that exact moment, your contribution is really to just be there, feel good and look pretty. Showering your contents all over actually puts a damper on the moment. I don't let it slow me down but I notice and it does distract me. Fortunately, for you and me, The Piano Man and I don't let you rain on our parade and we still have, er, fun. Though I guess you do... rain on our parade. Maybe it would be better to say we let the parade go on anyway.

Overall, I think you're great. In fact, you have taught me a lot and far exceeded my expectations. I'm proud of you. You can do amazing things like feed babies, have fun, shoot milk across the room, and more. There are just a few things that if you could work on, I'd really appreciate. Thanks for listening and being so awesome. We're all good. So, yeah, thanks for everything. Love ya babes.

Miracle Grow for Boobs

They came out of nowhere. I was in no way expecting them. Just woke up one morning and boom baby! There they were. I had porn star boobs. Like someone sprinkled Miracle Grow on my chest.

I always just assumed I’d breastfeed my babies. The truth is, I never thought about it, never questioned or considered that there could be another option. I knew formula was available and as a frequent babysitter had mixed and given quite a few bottles myself. But it just seemed, well, natural that I would breastfeed. I knew very little about breastfeeding other than “breast is best” and my mom enjoyed nursing my sibs and I and I knew that I would do it myself. I kind of figured that you have a baby and that triggers the faucet and voila! Milk!


So when I got pregnant I had zero idea of the changes that were coming. I understood certain changes related to pregnancy, thought I looked forward to morning sickness (HA!), the glowing skin, knew to expect swollen ankles, odd cravings and a host of other almost cute changes indicative of the growing life within me. What I was unprepared for though, among other things, were the boobs. Upon getting the two lines on the stick I peed on I started imagining myself with a round belly and cute maternity tops, anticipating the attention I’d receive as a woman heavy with child. I thought I couldn’t wait to go shopping for new clothes to accommodate my earth mother figure.

Within a few weeks, however, I had a tummy flatter than a pancake sporting an almost 6 pack thanks to the vomiting sessions and the 10+ pound weight loss. True, I did need new clothes but not because of my growing belly but rather because of the giant melons that now occupied the space on my chest where my little A cup, Hershey Kiss breasts had been. I'm telling you, Miracle Grow. Thinking it would be a while before I couldn’t see my feet, I was shocked to discover that the sore growths on my chest already obstructed the view. The Piano Man only once casually mentioned my increased chest size and then only when I complained about my bras not fitting and he suggested I go shopping, acknowledging that maybe they were a little bigger. Together we marveled at the candy stripped appearance of my boobs as bright red stretch marks streaked the once smooth, even skin. I worried he’d think me less attractive, what with my constant puke breath and neon sign striped boobs but he assured me I was still beautiful, greasy hair, puke breath and red magic marker streaked breasts and all. Smart man. Thinking he and I were the only ones that noticed my newly acquired body parts I tried not to let them bother me and go about my business, puking and pretending I didn’t have breasts nearly hitting my chin and keeping my arms from resting flat against my sides. But we weren’t the only ones aware, oh no, not at all. The 6 year old boy I babysat noticed and he finally couldn’t help himself, he asked me where those things on my chest came from. He totally did say “those things.” Scarlet, head to toe. I could feel my cheeks burning. They were still burning minutes later when, not getting anything but a blushing response from me, he took off to go play. But I caught him, more than once, staring at them. Seriously though, I was weighing in at 93 pounds with D cups, how could he not? I couldn't help but stare at them myself sometimes and I legitimately did worry they were going to cause me to topple over.


When we finally started telling people we were expecting most of them told us they already figured it out, between the puking and all. The “and all” meant my newly found rack. Ok, fine, pretend you don't notice them, we can just ignore the elephant tits in the room. Only one other person said anything: our gay best friend. I knew it was bad then. I really was just a pair of pasties away from looking like a stripper. My cup over-floweth had a totally new meaning to me, an uncomfortable, awkward, knockers meaning. I couldn’t wait for my belly to at least catch up with my bosom. My very ample bosom. The belly did catch up, finally, very near then end and I was relieved. There was a nice little shelf between my breasts and my belly and I was finally earth mother. I loved my curves, they were beautiful.

Then Earth Baby was born. Watermelons. Watermelons that shot milk when I sneezed, Earth Baby cried, I made chocolate milk (from cows), slept, had sex, thought about having sex, thought about Earth Baby or went out in public. Porn star cow boobs in nursing bras. And I still couldn’t see my feet. Miracle Grow for boobs, it must have been a whole bottle of the stuff.