My Wife’s Breastfeeding Helped Me Respect Women’s Breasts
Oh, and I always desire her as fuck
I’ve been a father for 5 years and a breast-obsessed sex addict for 30.
Since I was a kid, the female breasts electrified my brain. Whether suggesting their volume behind soft fabric, beckoning from the balcony of a cleavage, or appearing in all their magnificent nudity, breasts always rushed adrenaline into my blood and blurred my thinking process. Although I appreciated all angles of the female body, I was always nuts about the twin peaks.
But let’s get back to the father part. What do you get if you put a breast-obsessed sex addict next to a nursing mum?
To my surprise, it wasn’t a horrible big mess — at least not all of it. On the contrary, seeing my wife breastfeed, I grew into some sort of higher self.
Let’s be honest. I still coveted — and always do — her engorged, milky breasts. I still couldn’t wait for the baby to go to sleep so that I could stand a chance to approach them — and my wife.
But I grew.
Patience, empathy, and respect elbowed their way to the spot occupied for decades by my toxic, sexist male gaze.
Seeing my wife breastfeed, I learned to respect women and their bodies much more than I used to.
Developing respect
The female body’s versatile capabilities
The choice of whether a mother will breastfeed or not is only for her to make — and for everybody else to respect. Regardless of that, milk coming out of the female body is pure magic. A woman’s body having the capacity to feed her offspring within minutes after birth is something amazing.
I marvelled when the first drops of colostrum appeared on my wife’s nipple, with the aid of the midwife, just minutes after the c-section. A few days later, I would see milk spraying out in drops, streams, and fountains. I would take pumped out milk and freeze it, then thaw it and feed it to the baby, while my wife was at work.
Being part of this incredible production routine — especially in combination with bad sleep, professional worrying, and personal anxieties — I tended to overlook the magic of it all. But it was there. I saw it every time I opened my eyes to it.
As the man, the husband, the father, I stood with a gaping mouth watching what the woman’s body is capable of.
Breastfeeding — like pregnancy and birth — is not “what the women’s body is for,” but it’s definitely one of the most primal abilities it has. And most impressive, too.
The female body in and out of sexual context
Our patriarchal culture perpetuates the belief that the female body is a loaded weapon threatening men’s sanity. Films and commercials cash in on this context, picturing women taking off their tops not when they want to have sex with someone they fancy, but when they want to seduce a man for plot-relevant profit. The equation usually goes:
Breasts = Sex = Power
Living together with a woman gets you familiar with the female body in non-sexual contexts, too. And this is important. Not every instance of nudity is a mating call. Not every bra removal is a striptease.
She’s not always undressing for you!
There comes the time of day that she must shower or change underwear. There comes the time of day that she is not a femme fatale, but a real person.
In Men Are Crazy About Women’s Breasts, I write that I had to consciously stare at my unsuspecting wife while she changed clothes, challenging the habit of seeing her undressing as something sexy.
Breastfeeding took this exercise even further. Having a breastfeeding partner exposed me to a lot more breast air time — again for non-sexual purposes. Even if I always enjoy staring at my wife’s breasts, I learned to internalise this satisfaction and not let it interfere with my staying in the moment, assisting her, and keeping a cool head.
Which brings me to the next important topic:
Breastfeeding taught me the meaning of consent
I remember the first months of my relationship with my wife. Sex was the number one pastime. Basically, everything else was a break from having sex. Food, a movie, a walk. Throughout the day, at random times, it felt natural to touch, grope, and squeeze each other. It kept the juices flowing, showed affection, and promised that more intercourse would follow. Both of us were happy and excited with such interactions.
We were so into sex, that I never felt it was necessary to ask for consent.
As we started spending more and more time together — especially when we moved together — we started having a common everyday life. Not just the fireworks.
There were evenings that she was stressed or exhausted from work. There were moments that she felt she needed a good bath. And other moments that she simply had no appetite for sex.
I have to be honest: I struggled with getting rejected. Coming from a sex addict’s life, I was used to defining myself through sexual frequency, performance, and feeling desirable. Whenever she refused sex, I took it personally. What if she didn’t desire me anymore? What if that was the beginning of an endless sexless era?
I was a complete idiot.
Fortunately, it was something we discussed. She desired me — and I believed her — but there would be times that she wouldn’t want sex.
“How can some people not want sex anytime?” I thought.
It took me a while, but I accepted it. I slowed down and it did me good — it was my addiction’s brakes she was helping me push. I realised to which degree I relied on sex for self-definition.
Then, came pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding. Sleepless nights and exhaustion ensued. She had even less often appetite for sex. I had to slow down even more.
She had less, but not zero appetite for sex. She did (and still does, thank God!) desire me. And there were nights that she initiated sex. Moreover, our sex changed after the first baby: it felt deeper, more connected. We felt each other’s timing. Our orgasms were in sync, too.
Eventually, through this minefield of rejections, some positive things happened:
I learned to deal with rejection and ego blows. I learned not to measure my wife’s desire with orgasms per month. I learned to ask for consent. Plus, I learned to be happy and in balance, even when the answer was a no.
Desire
Breastfeeding is exhausting. It is messy. It involves unsexy bras, sleepless nights, dark circles under the eyes, and little or no energy to fuck.
On top of it, mummy’s body changes. Some daddies get frustrated about this. Her focus changes, too. Other daddies get frustrated about this, too.
Lots of things happen and desire suffers — but mostly because of people’s confusion, though.
Now, whom is the breast for?
Soon after our first son’s birth, my mother asked me: “are you jealous seeing him breastfeed? Some men are.” For some reason, she seems to know everything about men and their relationship with breasts.
No, I was never jealous of our son’s breastfeeding. Perhaps because I don’t see breastfeeding as an obstacle to the adults’ sexual pleasure.
When parents are in the breastfeeding phase, there is no reason not to desire and feel desirable. Since those first colostrum drops, I have the opinion that breastfeeding makes a woman more attractive, sweet, and bestows a calmness on her as well. Shall I just call this a combination that’s sexy as fuck?
Unfortunately, some — men and women — believe that once breasts assume their maternal role, there should be no more boob-play during sex. Moreover, some can’t even think about having any sexual contact whatsoever!
(Needless to say, milk-play is out of the question for those folks — too bad; they don’t know what they’re missing.)
As soon as the baby latches, the female breasts are supposed to switch their function from sexual to maternal.
As if they can’t be both maternal and sexual.
I am not talking about the cases where parents don’t have the time or the energy to get intimate. I know this case very well — I haven’t had sex with my breastfeeding wife since August.
Being exhausted is different from not wanting to sexually involve her breasts because they are for the baby, now. This can come from either party and it’s just a sad misunderstanding of what humans are: higher, intelligent, sensual, spiritual, and pleasant beings.
Yes, breasts are maternal and, yes, breasts are sexual, too. It’s not a matter of “shifting” from one role to the other, but of experiencing a harmonic merge of the two functions.
And it’s certainly not about giving up the sexual role for the motherly role.
Yael Wolfe has written an excellent essay on this: Mothers Are Sexual Beings — Get Over It — pure gold. I will only quote an example:
Our culture asks women to cut away all the parts of themselves that don’t fit into the “good mother” category, never acknowledging that this is an impossible task. The parts of our bodies that are sexual are also how we gestate, birth, and feed a child.
Contrary to what Christianity wants us to believe, the flesh is not sinful. It is not to be scorned or hated. It is the spirit’s temple and that’s enough for it to be respected. Also, respect and reverence don’t have to be asexual — let alone anti-sexual.
Long story short, you can both respect someone and want to fuck their brains out at the same time.
And you’re not going to hell for it.
Dealing with changes
My wife’s body changed significantly, during her first pregnancy, more than five years ago. Her breasts grew and her nipples got long and thick. Her pink areolae darkened to brown.
Some of the changes remained until today. After two pregnancies, she still carries most of the weight she gained. Her breasts are now much bigger and saggier than those of the 30-year-old woman I met 9 years ago.
Having witnessed such changes, I have to ask:
Are there really so many men freaking out over their female partners’ body shape changes during pregnancy and breastfeeding?
Yes, my wife’s body has changed significantly, but she’s always gorgeous. When we exchange a kiss, during the few moments of privacy, I feel like a highschool boy. I lose my breath when my lips touch her skin and I get aroused immediately when I caress her curves.
Hell, I get aroused right now, writing about them.
Okay, yes, I am in love. Still. Always. I love her. I desire her. I want to grow old by her side. I desire her even more, after she had our kids. I remember the different feeling before and after becoming a father. More than anything else, it was a deep feeling of having bonded with a soul mate. Of being in it together. “It” being the start of an adventure. The new life and our life alongside this new life.
Perhaps you have a different opinion. Perhaps you think some men are just lucky to still find their wives sexy after they turn to motherhood. Other men get shocked by the changes in their partner’s body. They see changes they find hard to accept.
Accepting the changes is not luck. It means we are attached to something deeper than the surface looks of a person. Respect, real respect is a connection with the deep and invisible parts of a human being.
Desire is no different.
Mastophilia & mastophobia
Patriarchy and the female body
Let’s get back to my breast obsession. I may not feel comfortable discussing it over Christmas dinner, but (whispering) I don’t think I am the only one who has it. Lots of people around me seem to be crazy about boobs.
In fact, whole societies are breast-obsessed. Addicts like me are but children of this phenomenon.
Our culture goes to great lengths to maintain the concept that female bodies are de facto sexual. Breasts are meant to be an erotic part of the female anatomy, along with the legs and the butt. Rape culture tends to the idea that the female body is a loaded weapon and that innocent men turn into rapists because they can’t control their reactions to women’s uncontainable sexuality.
As a beginner feminist and having witnessed my wife’s body go twice through the miracles of giving birth and breastfeeding, it is now obvious to me: we men designed this whole structure called patriarchy, because *we just can’t wrap our heads around the female — body and spirit. Her potential, her limits (are there any?) and her inner strengths and powers.
Our desire to understand and digest her abilities soon became a frenzy to contain and control her.
In the name of family, in the name of God, in the name of morals, in the name of decency, in the name of anything, women have to shut up and contain themselves, in every age and every sector of their lives.
We men must grow and understand all of this. See the power of the female and acknowledge the ways that we have stood against it. Both collectively and personally.
We all have.
Being one of the most impressive manifestations of female magic, breastfeeding offers an opportunity for seeing and understanding. Let’s absorb and embrace her magic, instead of trying to downplay it, judge it, contain it, control it, or oppose it.
Breastfeeding vs. the world
Breastfeeding is supposed to be something very natural. Still, authorities and companies employees give mothers nursing in public a hard time. They tell them to cover up or leave the premises.
First of all, this kind of attempted and improvised banning is illegal in more countries than you may think.
Second, by telling a woman breastfeeding in public to cover up, we miss a huge opportunity to reflect on what breasts actually are.
I am not saying, “breasts are only for breastfeeding.” I am saying, “breasts are not sex toys by default.”
Seeing a nursing mum can be a good nudge for you to do some work on your beliefs surrounding sexuality and femininity. If the sight offends you, ask yourself why. Listen to that voice inside your head screaming that public breastfeeding is indecent. Whose voice is it? Why is it there? Do you even want it there?
Sexualising breastfeeding and asking women to breastfeed in restrooms or their car is one more pathetic attempt of patriarchy to own and control the female nature. Instead of missing important points, society should take a good look at breastfeeding mums.
There is a lot to absorb and learn in that view.
The breasts’ dual function — and multiple meaning
I mentioned before that breasts can merge their two functions, seamlessly transitioning from their sexual to their maternal and vice versa. But let’s just wait a minute.
Why do we keep saying that breasts have two functions?
When we talk about “both functions” of the female breasts, aren’t we reducing them to mere instruments and their meaning of existence to mere functionality?
What is the function of hands? Is it grabbing things or playing the piano? Throwing punches or cooking dinner? Clapping or doing head-stands?
If they choose not to perform such functions, do hands become meaningless? Why do we give things meaning according to their use? Why do female breasts have to go under so much scrutiny in regard to their purpose?
Are they for the baby? Are they for the husband? Are they for food? Are they for sex?
What if they just… are?
Epilogue
One weekday evening, while she was breastfeeding, I asked my wife: “so, after all this time, do you enjoy it at all or is it just pain and exhaustion?”
She replied: “when I return from work, it’s very nice lying next to him, while he breastfeeds.”
Nothing is black and white — certainly not something as deeply rooted and emotionally involving as breastfeeding. It is very personal and there is much a man can learn by watching his breastfeeding partner. By listening and tending to her needs.
But also by observing her and digesting whatever he can.
The growth it offers actually transcends it. Breastfeeding, fatherhood, a marriage, a relationship. They are all opportunities for a guy to man up.
Again, I am not saying that all those things have the sole purpose to help guys man up. I’m only saying… guys, let’s grab any opportunity and man up, already.
Let’s open our mind and look at the world — and women — with empathy and respect.
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