(and the list goes on...)
And then, even beyond all that, they surprise us with their real reason d'être: to feed our babies.
Billions of babies have latched on to our knockers and flourished, they have tugged on our tatas with a glint in their eye, and buried their faces like a long lost lover into the softness of our kajongas to drink greedilly. It is the way it has always been . . . .
Yet, somehow, we've forgotten that they are dual purpose. They are both fun bags and feed bags, but ultimately, they're for nourishing first, fun second. I don't care how well-constructed your argument is. If you were born 100 years ago, you wouldn't have a leg to stand on: breasts are for nourishing infants first, fun, second.
We confuse nursing with indecency and inappropriateness. We have it tangled up with lack of independence and crushing responsibility (and not unnecessarily so, I might add). We hide in places like bathroom stalls and filthy "nursing rooms" to protect others from exposure. We count the days until weaning when we will have our bodies back to ourselves.
inevitable. We wish we had our old knockers back with all their perk and independence. That they jiggled and jumped with attitude and verve as they did when we were 19.
We abandon the tits that have worked so hard for us both in leisure and toil, and we should say we're sorry.
Sorry for being such a jerk to my miraculous boobs. Sorry for not understanding my body and its natural evolution. Sorry for looking to Hollywood as a standard for a mother's body. Sorry for expecting the impossible.
Therefore, I hereby promise to never say a bad thing about my wonderful boobs ever again. Ever.
I will be proud of the delicate, shiny skin that glint in the mirror lights, and I will be proud of the new way they sit on my frame.
I have been so damn proud to be an on-demand nurser who spent inordinate amounts of time pulled over on the side of the road, sitting in rocking chair displays, in restaurant booths, at dinner tables, friends' houses, parties, BBQ's and airplanes in all sorts of company consisting of women, men, fathers, bachelors, singles, in-laws and everything else in between. So why not be proud of the very vehicles that allowed me to do so and the way the are today?
I'm also proud to say that I refused to be pushed into any setting that was unclean or unnatural to me, instead believing that I and my baby were the ones with the right. I was the one who was the one participating in a biological act of survival with love and respect. Not that creepy looking dude or judgmental woman, who were willing me with their glares to go somewhere else to feed my son.
I now smile at any mother who is nursing in public and gives me an apologetic look. I want to give her a thumbs up, let her know that I'M ON HER SIDE. I am her sister in this. She does not need to look sorry. I will protect her right to feed her baby any time she needs to, this much I promise.
So, let me end this with a formal apology to my girls.
I'm sorry for not loving you in your new shape and for treating you so badly, for relegating you to bras at any given moment and for trying to hide you from public view. You are wonderful, you are glorious, you are the best boobies in the whole wide world. And THANK YOU. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for filling my babe's belly time and time again and for giving me something to flaunt and be proud of. You really do rock.
We are proud to host a guest post today from Jessica.
Do you have a story to share about nursing in public and/or the normalization of breastfeeding? We'd love to host it!