For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had big breasts. They developed early and increased in size all the way up to an F cup in my adult life. They’ve always been sort of a running joke in my close-knit group of friends — jokes I absolutely participate in. I am aware of their size. This is nothing new to me. Yes, that’s right. I sexually enjoy my own breasts and love it when my partner enjoys them. Yes fellas, ladies enjoy them too — is your mind blown yet? But just like any other body part, their sexual appeal isn’t their primary purpose. There is a time and a place breasts (and butts and abs and eyes) are sexy. However, should he do it in public, people (and in particular, men like you) like to take it as an opportunity to openly discuss and sexualize the entire situation. “Man he has the life. Sure wish I could rest there.” I wish I was kidding. Even one of our doctors made an off-color comment when my son snuggled up to me. He turned to my husband and said: “Man that used to be your spot, but looks like you got the boot!” Um, EXCUSE ME? If my son wasn’t sleeping on my chest, wouldn’t it be considered grotesque to just comment on my breasts in public? Of course it would — and using my sleeping infant as a sly way to talk about my body is especially heinous. Breasts, although they can be sexual in a consenting context, have a primary function of comforting and feeding children. By implying my son is just “lucky” to rest on my boobs does several misogynistic things at once. For one, it places a weird toxic assumption on my kid. We talk all the time about kids being forced to grow up too fast and in the same breath say things like “He’ll be such a ladies’ man.” My boobs aren’t sexual to him; they are part of mommy’s body. It also objectifies the sh*t out of me. I’m not a pair of disembodied breasts. Because they are big doesn’t mean you have an invitation to comment on them. And using my son as a way to weasel in a comment probably earns you a special place in hell. Just because someone sees my breasts as pleasurable doesn’t give them the right to make me (or any other woman) uncomfortable. And it certainly isn’t ok to make it weird for me and my son.
