Dem Boobs, Dem Boobs, Dem... Dry Boobs.

My boobs have been having an identity crisis lately.  It's a pretty significant one, I think.  The subject comes up daily, sometimes multiple times a day.  I try to avoid them, so that I can avoid that uncomfortable silence that inevitably follows their twin chorus of "Hi, we're your boobs, and we're having an identity crisis."  Seriously, how do I respond to that?


Complete avoidance is impossible, though.  Our interactions are something like this:

Me:  Hi boobs.  How are ya today?

Boobs: We're sad.  Look, we're looking down at the floor with our pointy nipple-eyes.  We're having an identity crisis.


Me:  Oh?  *uncomfortable silence*  Uhh... Umm... Why?  You're boobs.  Don't you generally do... boob things?  Like hang out?  I try not to put you in a bra, so you've got way more freedom than most of your other boob friends.


Boobs:  Yeah, we know.  And really - we appreciate that freedom.  Our problem is that we're dry.  


Me:  Oh, well I can fix that!  Here, have some nourishing lotion with vitamin E!


Boobs:  No, not like that.  See, we see you feed the baby, and we know that the milk you're giving him isn't from us.  Because, you know, we're dry.  This is the fault line for our shattering identity earthquake.  We mean, logically we know that you're giving him artificial milk because you're taking a couple of medications that you really can't go without right now, but we feel cheated.  We dried up suddenly and traumatically, and we're quite upset about it.


Me:  Oh.  Yeah, I can totally see that.  Oh look, brain and conscience are here!  Let's get them in on this discussion!


Brain:  Hey Boobs!  Lookin' good today, ladies!  You've got some super-hot circulatory action goin' on.  No worries, you can totally thank me later.


Boobs:  *stares*  Really, Brain?  Really?


Conscience:  So, I totally didn't mean to eavesdrop, Boobs, but I heard everything you said, and I'm right there with you.  I feel SO GUILTY about all of it, your drying up and Jackie taking meds and Brain just being brain... it makes me want to cry.  I even feel guilty about the fact that Leg went off and got herself broken, which is why you dried up to begin with!  It's totally ALL MY FAULT.


Brain:  Oh shit.  Look at what ya'll did.  Conscience is crying now.


Me:  Okay, hold it.  This is not going to turn into a three ring circus.  Brain, do you have anything useful to contribute?


Brain:  Well, that depends.  I do, out of deference for Boobs, go ahead and automatically make their pointy nipple-eyes hard every time the baby cries, as well as make them ache.  You know, 'cuz they're boobs.  That's what they're made for, amirite?


Me:  Right on.  You just keep on keepin' on.  Not like any of us could persuade you to do otherwise.  Conscience, is there any reasoning with you on this one?


Conscience:  No.  *sobs*  I'M SO SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING!  I DESERVE TO DIE IN A FIRE!


Me:  *mutters*  Drama Queen.  *looks at Brain*  Can you take her out of here?  I'll deal with you guys later.


Boobs:  Now do you understand, though?  We're boobs.  We were put on your body primarily to nurse your offspring.  Sexual pleasure and looking awesome are just fringe benefits.  You let us do our job briefly, and then it was abruptly and traumatically taken away from us.  Now we're bereft.  What are we to do?


Me:  Oh.  Well, I... uh... *clears throat*  I'm really sorry.  I... I got nothin' else.  Can I offer you that nourishing lotion with vitamin E as a consolation prize?


And with that, my friends, my Boobs simply shake their heads sadly and wander away, until the next time I feed the baby.  Then the cycle starts all over again.

Logically, I know that relactation is not one of my most brilliant ideas.  Oh, I have no doubt that I could achieve it - and fairly easily, at that.  But what would it accomplish?  I would need to wean off of three different meds, and risk at best some very painful and at worst some very dangerous consequences.


Bug, I suspect, couldn't really care less.  There's still ample bonding and skin-to-skin during feedings.  Also, he's leading himself to solids, so it may be a non-issue here very shortly.  Health-wise, it's a non-issue completely.  


So where is the sense in all of this wistfulness and mourning over our lost breastfeeding relationship?  Why can't Boobs just suck it up, rub some dirt in it, and move on?  Why can't Conscience just get over her guilt?  Why can't Brain stop leading the mutiny on the bounty?


Because - breast is best.  For all parties involved.  People will try to placate us with "Well, at least you got *some* breastfeeding time in," but that won't help.  I don't disagree, and I *AM* thankful for the time we had.  But I would be a dirty liar if I said I didn't wish with every bottle of formula I make that it had been longer.  That we were still doing it today.

I learned to forgive myself with Kinder Major - she wasn't breastfed at all.  I will learn to forgive myself with Bug, too.  It's just going to take time.  Time, and a lot of "why relactating isn't a good idea" talks with Boobs.


Ladies, don't take your Boobs for granted.  And for those of you who haven't/can't/didn't (for whatever reason) breastfeed who are having similar talks with your Boobs... well, best of luck to you.  I hope you can make more headway with yours than I have with mine.

Getting it all together... in the all together?

So, there's been lots of tittering and tweeting over Erykah Badu very unabashedly going leafless at the site of the JFK assassination in order to film her new video. 

Truth be told, I often forget how "not normal" nakedness is for most people.  Admittedly, I've been known to swerve my car when I see a man jogging in the rain wearing nothing but a bright yellow poncho and silver jogging shoes, but generally speaking, nakedness doesn't make me bat an eye.  I, myself am often found in some state of dishabille or another.  (Pants... they are one of the bane of my existence!  Just ask my neighbors, who can name of probably every pair of underwear I own due to me having run to the car or the mailbox in them at some point or another.)

It took me a long, long time to become comfortable enough with myself that I allowed anyone anywhere to see me in any state of undress.  I would have happily worn knee socks, jeans, a turtleneck and a headscarf in the middle of summer, I was once so shy.  Not anymore, though.  Whoo, boy.  I'd be hard pressed to find someone who knows me IRL that hasn't seen me in some sort of undress.

I don't wander around half-naked just for kicks, though.  Nor do I do it to attract/frighten away potential suitors/stalkers.  I do it because I generally don't pay much attention, or it's convenient to change wherever I stand, or I just straightup don't care what someone else is going to say (in the case of picking a snack of oranges in my yard in the  middle of the night,) if they see me running around in my undies or bra (on the odd occasion I wear a bra.)

To me, Erykah Badu is not daring or progressive.  She's comfortable.  It's my wish that everyone out there become a little more comfortable.  After all, many people won't even strip down in the privacy of their own homes, let alone a national monument.  So here's to you, my friends.  May you discover the delight that is not giving a fuck and letting it all hang out. :)