From boobies to tits to breasts and back again
It is World Breastfeeding Week, so I figured it was a good time to talk about boobies! They aren't really all that special, we all have them, well all females do anyway, but for some reason they are a HUGE source of conflict, comparison and scrutiny. And it starts from such a young age! All of a sudden little Sarah has huge boobs in like 4th grade and all the boys like Sarah because of her magical boobies!! Of course the other girls notice and either want to be like Sarah and stuff their bras or are jealous of Sarah and assume she is a slut because you know, if a boy that you like likes her instead then she must be!
Later, girls start comparing their boobies size amongst friends, it is discussed between the boys at school, they are compared with the girls in magazines, and of course, the models. Now suddenly everyone has either too big or too small, too perky or too saggy boobies; nobody seems happy with their boobies! Why don't my boobies look like HER boobies, you know the one in the Victoria's Secret catalog!
Then comes the very important transition from boobies to tits. It happened around high school when I was a kid but the way sexuality is going these days I wouldn't be surprised if it happened in 6th-ish grade now. You all remember when this happened, right. You realized that boys like tits and you have tits and you like boys and everyone has raging hormones and suddenly you want implants and your ENTIRE self-worth is resting on these two mammary glands and oh my god, why aren't they PERFECT LIKE THE MODELS DAMN IT!!
Ahh, the tit stage. This stage lasts a good long while and as the years go on you are not only bombarded with advertising but you are socialized to think that your self-confidence, your self-worth, your beauty and your whole life should revolve around your tits. Buy this bra or that swimsuit, take this breast enlarging pill or cream. You can't be popular with tiny tits! They become the reason that guy didn't call back, why you look awful in a swimsuit and I'm pretty sure they are the reason that you are going to die alone, surrounded by cats who eat your dead body because nobody could ever love a not perfect tit girl!!
Sigh...
Some women never outgrow the tit stage and neither do some men. But most do, and it's usually around the time a woman becomes pregnant that her tits become breasts. Breasts, it sounds so clinical, doesn't it? Suddenly they are not solely for the purpose of pleasing men, filling out a bra or getting a cocktail for free at a bar. They are, gasp, useful! And holy shit are they sore! Now, I've never put much thought into my boobs, they were always just kind of there. Average size, never got me any extra attention, were kind of a pain in the ass when sitting the trot horseback ridding or running but not all that special in my book. Then I had a baby and everything changed. My boobs, not that great, but my breasts, my breasts are fucking AWESOME!
My breasts grew a human, a HUMAN BEING from a tiny helpless 6 pound newborn to a rambunctious, running 20 pound toddler in just one year! My breasts know what kind of milk to produce based not only on my child's age but his level of health. My breasts are a source of comfort when nothing else can stop the tears. They have spent thousands of hours nourishing not only the body, but the soul of my child. They are a safe place when the world is too big and a perfect pillow for a nap. They are love.
Are they the same as they were before he was born? As perky or as full? Nope, but now they are so much more. They have a life, a story all their own.
When Caches was first born I knew that breastfeeding was important for me and I set a mental goal of one year. Anything after a year I thought would be "extra" and possibly even weird for me. But days turned into weeks turned into months then a year, and before I knew it I was looking down at a skinned knee toddler comfort nursing after a hard fall. And in that moment he was a baby again, a baby who needed his mother and her amazing breasts. So who am I to take that away? Because a calendar says he is old enough? Only he knows when he is done being a baby, and for the time being I'm alright with that.
For I know that one day soon he will no longer need my awesome breasts or their magical healing powers. That they will slowly return to being just boobs, because after nursing a baby for a year +, let's be honest, they sure as hell won't be tits ever again. So I relish in the quiet moments, like when Caches lays his sleepy body across my lap, my fingers running through his wispy curls like golden rings on my fingers. He lifts his tiny hand for a kiss, props his foot on my shoulder and I feel his whole body relax as mine follows suit. And we rock. We are safe. This is love.
I'll end with a quote from Paula Yount. I have held tight to this quote many times this past year, usually around 3am when I am DONE and I just want to be left alone to sleep for 29 years!
“You are not a pacifier; you are a Mom. You are the sun, the moon, the earth, you are liquid love, you are warmth, you are security, you are comfort in the very deepest aspect of the meaning of comfort…. but you are not a pacifier!”
Later, girls start comparing their boobies size amongst friends, it is discussed between the boys at school, they are compared with the girls in magazines, and of course, the models. Now suddenly everyone has either too big or too small, too perky or too saggy boobies; nobody seems happy with their boobies! Why don't my boobies look like HER boobies, you know the one in the Victoria's Secret catalog!
Then comes the very important transition from boobies to tits. It happened around high school when I was a kid but the way sexuality is going these days I wouldn't be surprised if it happened in 6th-ish grade now. You all remember when this happened, right. You realized that boys like tits and you have tits and you like boys and everyone has raging hormones and suddenly you want implants and your ENTIRE self-worth is resting on these two mammary glands and oh my god, why aren't they PERFECT LIKE THE MODELS DAMN IT!!
Ahh, the tit stage. This stage lasts a good long while and as the years go on you are not only bombarded with advertising but you are socialized to think that your self-confidence, your self-worth, your beauty and your whole life should revolve around your tits. Buy this bra or that swimsuit, take this breast enlarging pill or cream. You can't be popular with tiny tits! They become the reason that guy didn't call back, why you look awful in a swimsuit and I'm pretty sure they are the reason that you are going to die alone, surrounded by cats who eat your dead body because nobody could ever love a not perfect tit girl!!
Sigh...
Some women never outgrow the tit stage and neither do some men. But most do, and it's usually around the time a woman becomes pregnant that her tits become breasts. Breasts, it sounds so clinical, doesn't it? Suddenly they are not solely for the purpose of pleasing men, filling out a bra or getting a cocktail for free at a bar. They are, gasp, useful! And holy shit are they sore! Now, I've never put much thought into my boobs, they were always just kind of there. Average size, never got me any extra attention, were kind of a pain in the ass when sitting the trot horseback ridding or running but not all that special in my book. Then I had a baby and everything changed. My boobs, not that great, but my breasts, my breasts are fucking AWESOME!
My breasts grew a human, a HUMAN BEING from a tiny helpless 6 pound newborn to a rambunctious, running 20 pound toddler in just one year! My breasts know what kind of milk to produce based not only on my child's age but his level of health. My breasts are a source of comfort when nothing else can stop the tears. They have spent thousands of hours nourishing not only the body, but the soul of my child. They are a safe place when the world is too big and a perfect pillow for a nap. They are love.
Are they the same as they were before he was born? As perky or as full? Nope, but now they are so much more. They have a life, a story all their own.
When Caches was first born I knew that breastfeeding was important for me and I set a mental goal of one year. Anything after a year I thought would be "extra" and possibly even weird for me. But days turned into weeks turned into months then a year, and before I knew it I was looking down at a skinned knee toddler comfort nursing after a hard fall. And in that moment he was a baby again, a baby who needed his mother and her amazing breasts. So who am I to take that away? Because a calendar says he is old enough? Only he knows when he is done being a baby, and for the time being I'm alright with that.
For I know that one day soon he will no longer need my awesome breasts or their magical healing powers. That they will slowly return to being just boobs, because after nursing a baby for a year +, let's be honest, they sure as hell won't be tits ever again. So I relish in the quiet moments, like when Caches lays his sleepy body across my lap, my fingers running through his wispy curls like golden rings on my fingers. He lifts his tiny hand for a kiss, props his foot on my shoulder and I feel his whole body relax as mine follows suit. And we rock. We are safe. This is love.
I'll end with a quote from Paula Yount. I have held tight to this quote many times this past year, usually around 3am when I am DONE and I just want to be left alone to sleep for 29 years!
“You are not a pacifier; you are a Mom. You are the sun, the moon, the earth, you are liquid love, you are warmth, you are security, you are comfort in the very deepest aspect of the meaning of comfort…. but you are not a pacifier!”
BOOBS! and the most beautiful picture.
ReplyDeletelove,
aunt boobies