I love my tiny titties. There was a time I padded my bra, wore push ups and cutlets and googled breast alteration surgery late at night after my boyfriend had gone to bed. I was embarrassed to wear a bikini, a sports bra, a backless dress that wouldn’t allow for a bra. I envied friends whose nipples had a lighter pigment than mine and who fit those bigger cup sizes.
During a high school musical dress rehearsal a fellow dancer held me upside down in a lift and my two little cutlets slipped out the top of my sweaty costume and splatted on the stage floor. I hadn’t even noticed until one of the boys came parading backstage with them cupped to his chest and asked if they were mine. I laughed. I laughed at myself and let myself be the butt of a joke. And it was funny. But I still thought for years after that about altering my body to be more “desirable”. Echos of an acting teacher in LA who’d told me to go home and stand naked in front of my mirror and ask myself if it was actually possible to book a role on HBO with my body as it was.
It was my titties that alerted me to a hormonal imbalance in my body that led my doctor to a tumor in my brain. It was pressing down on the pituitary gland, causing me to lactate. It was possibly the first time in my life that I appreciated how interconnected the body is and saw its parts as more than objects for the male gaze. It was the first time I could say thank you titties, thank you for sticking with me, communicating with me, and I’m sorry for underestimating you and all of the talents you possess.
I really love looking over and seeing a mother nursing her baby in a restaurant. It might be the thing I miss most about being in public spaces right now. Witnessing unapologetically beautiful human moments. I was riding the tram back to the parking lot at Disneyland a few years back next to a mother that was nursing. Zero shame. I marveled at the humanity in that moment - the highlight of a long day in a pretend fantasy world and princesses with “perfect” breasts.
These days you’ll be hard pressed to find me wearing a bra. I love that one little hair that always grows next to my right nipple. I love the pigment and how they shine through a white shirt. It feels good. It feels free. It feels me.
Incase no one has told you, your titties are perfect. Big, small, perky, low riding, asymmetrical, feeding your baby, bouncing, tiny, reduced for comfort, removed by necessity, and all the ways in between. I love you. I love you and your glorious titties.
And don’t forget to check em!
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