Dear Diary, Yes, your breast do talk. I know that sounds strange, and when my breasts spoke their first words to me I thought, Yo, you really are a weirdo. But, the conversation has been a part of my six month journey to get back in touch with my body. I have three children now, but back when I tried breastfeeding for the first time me, and my tits and I were not on speaking terms. So what happens when you can’t breastfeed? I remember being 19 and afraid of staying in the house alone with my newborn son. I was a proud teenage mama, but I was not at all prepared for motherhood. I had a pretty sheltered childhood and had never really been alone with anyone younger than my little sister. So when my mom left for work that morning, it was just scared little me, my bouncing baby boy and my two breasts. I’d fed my son with my mom sitting with me and coaching me along before, but never by myself. I remember cradling his head in my hand, it was so little, and he did his cute fishing thing. Only this time when he clamped down both me, and my two breast let out a squeaky yelp. It hurt! At the time, I was naïve and I didn’t know the hot, red stinging pain coming from my right boob was proverbial breast talk. It was my breast speaking to my inexperience, my fear and my overall anxiety about being a teenage mom. No, there was nothing wrong with my baby, as I initially thought. He knows what he’s doing. I don’t. My nipples informed me that I wasn’t doing this thing the right way and that it my mother may need work from home. Being the great mother she is, this occurred just two weeks later. You know, your brain is not the only part of your body that is capable of feeling, action and thought. I think as a teenage mom, I was unaware of that. In part, that is the reason many moms shy away from breastfeeding. We aren’t quite ready to recognize our breasts as an opinionated and integral part of our lives and our children’s growth. When our breasts ache from feeding, it often correlates with fatigue. When our breasts sag, its a shouting its mental and physical wisdom to the world. When our nipples perk up, it corresponds to arousal. In short, our boobies are always talking and interpreting our lives. That’s why breastfeeding isn’t just about getting liquid gold to your baby. It’s also an instrument for communicating your dreams, intentions, prayers and even problems with your little one who now more than anytime in his life is such an avid listener to you. My babies and I communed during those feedings. My #Chocolatemilk was filled with emotions, sometimes positive and other times not so much. It was through my breasts that he knew to cry when I was leaving, to smile when he was happy and to push away from me and walk when it was time to grow up. Contrary to popular belief, boys don’t just like breasts because they’re big or a sexual desire. Breasts for many men are a source of comfort and closeness. So now, I listen to my chest call out. My youngest son is 4-years-old, but that doesn’t mean that my boobs are done talking. They still speak to my children when my five-year old gets a boo-boo and needs comforting. They ignite when it’s time for intimate love and conversation with my husband, and if nothing else they remind me I need a jacket when its chilly outside. But most importantly, my breast tell me that they aren’t just for the sexual fantasies of men. They are a thoughtful, considerate and opinionated part of my body that have nurtured my children into their very existence. Cindy Mendoza is the founder of BrownMamas.com and Pittsburgh Brown Mamas, a mommy meet up and support group. She created them both out of her love for motherhood and writing. She sees everything she does everyday as a blog post and writes about her husband, three sons and life as a mother of color. Cindy redefines what is means to be an African-American mother to society through her series #GoodMama. When not blogging, Cindy works as an audiojournalist for American Urban Radio Networks. Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.