Boobs, melons, jubblies, fun bags. Call them what you will, I’ve recently been giving a lot of thought to our female appendages – specifically why do women have breasts – and I have something to get off my, ahem, chest. If you’re a woman, especially one who currently breastfeeds or has ever nursed your baby, then you’re going to be totally on board with this one. I think…
I wrote quite a comprehensive post about boobs once before, and what they mean to us as women. Quite a lot as it happens. But guess who they mean more to? Well, our babies for a start (if we’re breastfeeding) – because for a while at least they’re their life source. That’s pretty special and actually quite a privilege when I stop to think about it. It feels rather incredible to know that I first grew a little human inside my body, then pushed it out, and then independently sustained it for six months. Twice.
Women are freaking superheroes.
But why am I talking about boobs again today? Well, because I’ve started to resent my breasts. I currently have a love-hate relationship with them and I’m wondering how many other women will also feel this way. I’ve made a list which better explains what I mean…
- I like my breasts because they make me feel beautiful; I love my breasts because they can make me feel sexy. And I loathe them when they bring me unwanted attention.
- I like my breasts because they make me feel feminine; I love my breasts because they can make an outfit. And I loathe them when they make an outfit look tacky.
- I like my breasts because they satiate my baby; I love my breasts because they soothe her. And I loathe them when they over supply and I get blocked ducts.
Why Do Women Have Breasts?
But recently I’m finding I have more reasons to be resentful than anything else; my boobs – MY boobs – feel like they’re not my own.
And when I think about it, were they really ever? Because let’s be honest, the truth of it is that when we’re young and looking for a partner they’re used as a beacon to attract the attention of potential mates. Later they’re a tool to hold their interest. That’s the real reason they feel sexy: they’re fun bags for men – or women if that’s your (fun) bag. Later still we might attract unwanted attention from our poor sidelined husbands, when our boobs apparently become the property of their progeny…
Because if my baby could talk I’m quite sure she’d be adamant about that fact – they’re now her fun bags to knead, scratch, pinch, and claw. And so she does, frequently.
My husband saw me
cursing nursing recently – such an innocuous term which is entirely incongruous with the brutal reality of feeding a nine month old – and he was horrified.
She makes me bleed and leaves me raw from her overzealous fidgeting, which includes anything that could reasonably be classed as spiteful. Of course she knows no better and so for the sake of her settling down to nap (still a rarity even at this stage), I allow it through gritted teeth.
And then in due course, once she no longer requires them I’ve no doubt my hubby will wish to reclaim my breasts for himself. In the meantime I have the odd blocked duct, eczema-inflamed nipple, and grazes and scabs crisscrossing my forlorn décolletage.
Why do women have breasts? I appear to have forgotten because it sure as shit ain’t for our benefit.