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.

Mexican-American B@@bies

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 Martha, Mexican-American mother working in the US and breastfeeding her daughter.

I am a Mexican-American. My parents are both from Mexico and came to the US before I was born. I was born state-side. My entire life has been a struggle between two cultures. Growing up I wanted to be just an American. I didn't deny my Mexican heritage but being a Mexican wasn't my top priority. I think I always felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I'm never Mexican enough, never American enough.

Then I had my daughter. Audrey has been the piece that made me feel whole. I don't have to belong to anyone but her. Breastfeeding has been an integral part of that journey. Knowing that Audrey's well-being was based on me finally made me rearlize that no one else's thoughts about me and my background mattered. Audrey is number one in my life.

Growing up breastfeeding was just a normal part of life. Boobs were for babies. Who had money for formula? If you had to give a bottle, it had regular cow's milk, not formula. To me, breastfeeding was just normal so there was never a question in my mind that I would breastfeed.

Though I have to admit, I did buy into the whole American bottle thing. I had just about bought the whole American birth/baby thing. You have to buy stuff to raise a kid, right? If you don't spend the money, your child will be weird. I almost fell for it and then my midwife said "All you need for the baby is a blanket, a diaper and pair of boobs." A light went off. I don't need anything else but my breast in order to raise my baby. You can successfully raise a child with just your boobs!

I knew from the start that I would be returning to work after 6-weeks so I was going to have to bottle feed once I returned to work. I was worried that working full-time and breastfeeding were not going to work together. I didn't know anyone that had done it. All the women I had known that breastfed were stay-at-home-moms. I had never heard of pumping! I took a breastfeeding class and that helped put my mind at ease that I could do it. I could work full-time and breastfeed. Maybe it wasn't what I was used to, but I could do it. A true melding of the Mexican and American me.

It hasn't always been easy. At week 5, just as I was sure I could do this. Just as I was getting comfortable with the whole operation, I got thrush. Honestly, it hurt worse than labor. I was sure my breastfeeding days were over. Thankfully my doctor gae me a prescription and encouraged me to continue. After that, the transition back to work went smoothly. Audrey refuses to take a bottle unless she is really hungry, which means a surplus of milk in the freezer. But otherwise, thankfully, we are going strong even after 7 months.

I've learned that my life isn't about being Mexican or American; it's about being me and being the best mother I can be. For me, breastfeeding has been a huge part of me growing into a woman. I'm not a little girl playing dress up, I'm a wife and mother. My body has had a part in creating life and continues to nurture that life. It took my breast living up to their potential to help me see myself as a whole person.

Lemonade Boobies

A reader sent me a photo that actually left me speechless. Momentarily anyway. I showed The Piano Man the image and waited for his reaction. He had plenty to say. After he expressed his thoughts I finally found mine and we ranted together. I appreciated his insight and asked him to write it down to share here. So I'm honored to share the first of what I hope are many more posts by The Piano Man.


Today Jessica showed me this:

"Lady selling lemonade on the beach (reportedly clearing $250 per day)... The psychology of business is to "know what your customers want!" This guy probably does not know what he is drinking, nor does he care... because he is after something more than sugared down lemon juice. Reportedly for $10 a try, you will see when you finish sucking. So who says making money is tough? The jobs are out there!!!"

(Jessica here: Don't you just love the expression on her face? I mean, seriously, what is that?)

A woman on the beach with large manufactured lemonade-filled breasts covering her own, from which, for $10, one can find refreshment and get in touch with their baby-side.

That’s right, customers (?!) pay a lady to suck on her fake boobs - for lemonade? The short description of the picture also alluded to what said customers may catch a glimpse of once they’ve had their fill, if you catch my drift.

(Jessica again: OMG, you mean, they might see some B@@B! A NIPPLE! Oh pretty lady what else can we do to sneak a peak? Roll over? Play dead? Don't even get me started on what this reduces men to.)

Um, really? My reaction to the photograph was a mix of shock, disbelief and disgust, as well as, I must admit, a smidge of amusement for just how ridiculous this whole scene is. Let’s see if I can unravel and label my emotional response.

(Jessica's emotional response: ewwwwwwwwww! ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwwwwww!)

What would possess a grown man to publicly perform such an act with a perfect stranger? An act that is as confusing as it is absurd. To me, a man’s face interacting with a woman’s chest is a sexual thing; the kind of sexual thing that you do in private. I could perhaps see how the shock value of appearing to be performing such an act in public might be enticing for someone, purely for entertainment. But with a stranger? Maybe I’m just too old-fashioned. I’d personally be embarrassed to pretend to suck on a stranger’s breasts; and I find it extremely disrespectful to the woman, even if she is offering it as a service.

(Jessica: No sweetie, you're really not old fashioned. You respect yourself and me. That and you don't have to resort to such measures, obviously.)

Which makes me wonder: is it really OK for individuals to go offering pseudo-sexual acts for money? How about participating in a pseudo-sexual act in public? I realize that in this situation people aren’t actually sucking on this woman’s breasts, but they are sucking on fake boobs positioned in the same place as her breasts, and these fake boobs happen to be see-through; you can clearly see the lemonade in them (and maybe more...). Still, you’re paying to suck on a strangers boobs in public, fake or not. To me, this is the same thing as wearing see-through swimsuits, or clothes that have naked people printed on them. Public nudity laws? Oh, you’re not really parading around naked, right? I’m not personally comfortable walking ON that right/wrong line.

(Jessica here again: I don't have a problem with airbrushed t-shirts with naked people on them. I mean, I wouldn't wear one but w/e.)

I mentioned how confusing this thing is. On the one hand, this act can be perceived as pseudo-sexual, but when I focus on the fake breast containing a drink that someone accesses by sucking on its fake nipple, all sexual connotation disappears for me, and it becomes a nurturing act, the kind that takes place between a mother and her baby when breastfeeding. A beautiful, natural act, that my wife has shared with our babies 5 times over, in public and in private, in truth, wherever the need arises. A life-giving act. And non-sexual; because it’s not a sexual act to breastfeed your baby but rather a nurturing, mothering oen. Babies have no other natural alternative than to get their nutrition from a breast. Sure, there’s formula, now. But I’d hardly call it natural. Accepted in our culture? No doubt. But natural? The way nature, or God, intended? I don’t think so. So, back to our amusing/disturbing picture. These breasts, fake though they obviously are, have liquid in them, liquid that is intended to be ingested, through the means of a nipple to which you apply suction with your mouth. To me, it’s a nursing act, and I have long outgrown my nursing days. I am a man now. Actually, my nursing days were over even way before I became a man. I know there is conversation regarding how long a child can or should nurse. For me the limit is 2 or 3 years of age, but I regard this as a personal decision that parents make for themselves, and I’m OK with that. Even for the extreme breastfeeders, there is a limit, a ceiling that is reached, where a child decides they are through with that phase in their life. Whether it happens at 3 or 10 is irrelevant in this discussion. The point is it happens, somewhere, we’ll say, in the first 10 years of a person’s life? Therefore, to me, this picture evokes an act that any well-adjusted adult has long outgrown and has now become unnatural to them. For me, it feels wrong, I experience a physical revulsion to the thought of an adult performing the act in a baby’s stead.

(Jessica's thoughts- again: I don't care what grown-ups do in private. That's their business. However, I never appreciate a grown-up acting like a child in any public setting. Temper tantrums? No. Whining? I don't think so. Picking their nose? Oh heck no.)

Then I started wondering what kind of people both the customer and the, uh, merchant (?) are. Does the man in the picture really not see the merchant as a woman? Is she just a set of boobs? A novelty item for his enjoyment? For the amusement of others? I don’t believe for a second that what’s on his mind is quenching his thirst. Is this not a blatant example of the objectification of women in our society? Does the customer have no respect for her, or for himself for that matter? If he’s willing to pretend to perform an (infantile) pseudo-sexual act with a complete stranger, in public, what else is he capable of? What will he do next? And what about her, the woman with the goods? How degrading for her to let who-knows-how-many strangers a day mess around with her fake breasts for money. What’s her story? Where is her self-respect? Does she see herself as an object for men's pleasure and entertainment? Is that where she finds her worth? I assume that she’s bought into our culture’s view of women, and she’s just trying to capitalize on it a little bit. I also assume that she is a victim of our culture’s view of women, and she has had degrading and hurtful experiences used to teach her about them. I feel sorry for her, and wish that she weren’t demeaned to the point of resorting to this.

(Jessica: Preach it babe.)

In a country that broadcasts all-too-frequent news reports on alleged disturbing acts of breastfeeding between mothers and their own babies in public, this is OK? This is acceptable? Even if this isn't acceptable to many why isn't this all over the news as inappropriate behavior in public when recently we have report after report of the scandalous activities of mothers simply caring for their children by nurturing and nourishing them with her breasts. Well, this, with its mixed message of sexual-public-nursing-naked-for-fun with objectification-and-paying-for-sex overtones, should certainly help clear up any misconceptions regarding the place of breasts and breastfeeding in our society. Because somehow we can post this on the internet and laugh from our jr. high dirty humor selves but a mother feeding her child naturally is considered so inappropriate FaceBook regularly deletes any images depicting a breastfeeding child, a Tampa school board sides with a principle that removes a breastfeeding woman from a public lobby and the obnoxious, in-your-face talk show The View refuses to show breastfeeding images on their show and dis on women that nurse in public. What is wrong with this picture?

Oh, and, in spite of the vaguely amusing and disturbing first glance of the above image, I find it mostly disgusting.