There’s a video of my eldest son’s first Christmas where my spouse took a shot of me nursing our then six month old son. For the last eight years, I have cringed every time we show the video. It isn’t obscene. In fact, you can’t see boob or even a small part of my nipple. But you know I’m nursing. And I don’t like that the moment was captured on film.
While we were in the hospital with our third child, my spouse again videotaped me nursing while I was talking to our toddler about the baby. That video is slightly obscene with major boob and nipple exposed. Some would say that it is all a part of nature and that I have nothing to be ashamed of. I tell them that it isn’t shame or embarrassment. Rather I’d just like to keep my nipples to myself thankyouverymuch.
Which is kind of hilarious considering that I flashed no less than a hundred people during Spring Break in Cabo San Lucas when I was just 20 years old. In my defense, those were perky boobs. Not these ones that have been ravaged by tiny little babies who can suck your eyeballs out of their sockets.
I have friends who have posted breastfeeding photos on Twitter and Instagram. I have many friends who think Facebook’s policy about breastfeeding photos needs to change. And yet, as I nursed my newborn baby, I never had a thought to take a picture of the two of us nursing. While nursing is wonderful on so many levels, I never felt the need to shout it from the roof tops (or in this case, cyberspace) that I was breastfeeding.
To me, my breasts are still mine. While they temporarily provide nutrition to my babe, those “fun bags” are attached to me. I have to live with them long after my children are weaned. I’d like a little privacy. I don’t need concrete evidence that my “boob really is bigger than my newborn’s head,” as my spouse so eloquently blurted out when she was just two days old. My boobs deserve more respect than that. They nourish only for a short time and then they just go back to being my boobs. Mine alone.
So you won’t see photos of my breasts on Instagram or Twitter. You won’t see me joining in on the Facebook debate. Instead, I’ll post a picture of my baby drinking from a bottle. Because bottles don’t have feelings. Or self-esteem. Or bosses. Or future employers. Or in laws. Some things are better left covered up. Believe me, my breasts are one (two?) of them.