Warning: If you are male or embarrassed about boob talk, turn back now. You see, I used to be one of you. Not male, but boob-shy. About 5 years ago, if I heard the word "nipple," my normally pale face would blush and burn, and I would shrink into the nearest corner and giggle nervously while clutching my elbows. My man used to blurt out the word regularly just to make me squirm.
Fast forward to the present day. These things are so gigantic that I torpedo everything in my path. In fact, I don't even think of them as mine; they are really just food storage for the punk.
Before having the baby, I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about breastfeeding. I knew that I wanted to at least try it for his sake, but wasn't sure I was going to enjoy using them as a tool. Because that's what they are. They are no longer for decoration. And what glorious decoration they used to be! I now think of them as merely utilitarian. In fact, my whole body has been nothing but a vessel for the past year. A vessel for creating, carrying, and nourishing life.
And what do I get in return for donating my body to science? This...
I'll take it.