My breasts were one of the first ways in which my visions of motherhood didn’t match up with reality. They represent the first time I let my kids down. Of course, I didn’t really let them down -- they were infants, they grew and thrived, and everything was fine. But my breasts are symbolic of my first big parenting disappointment
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:D
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Breasts in general... so complicated. Nurturing, motherhood; sexuality, otherhood. The fear that mine will turn on me and kill me, after having nourished 3 children and given me so much sexual pleasure...
and don't even get me started on how we can be arrested for showing something as controversial as our NIPPLES.
I think I am going to take off my shirt and go stand in front of a mirror.
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