boobquake
Today is boobquake 2010. I am participating. In my own way.
The goal of boobquake is to hold a mass movement of women dressing scandalously to prove that a woman's skin does not cause massive environmental disaster.
This sounds totally fun - the sort of mass movement I could have really gotten behind in college. It's fun and flirty to show off your cleavage! Stick it to the man! Um, or whatever.
On the other hand, now that I'm a mom I'm kind of fed up with the hypersexualization of breasts. It's not only about wonderbras, it's about a billion dollar industry made up of tents of varying sizes that you can put over baby's face while he's breastfeeding. If he's squirmy or difficult to feed in a tent, others will glance at you disapprovingly. Even breastfeeding advocates will chastise you for not being discrete.
At church a few weeks ago I was in the nursing baby's corner. I saw a new mom take ten minutes draping her little patterned shawl just so over baby's head. What a pain in the ass! Then another mom came in with a toddler and just rolled down her shirt pulling her whole boob out. Way to fuckin go! I wanted to scream. Except, you know, I was in a room full of babies. And I was trying to hide the top of my breast with my sweater.
So in honor of boobquake 2010 I'm officially declaring myself over it. Check out my breast. You'll find it in the baby food section. If you can't help yourself from being either titillated or disgusted, then you have your own problems you need to work through. I've taken a self-portrait in honor of the occasion. (And out of the complete boredom that comes from pumping in a poorly-lit closet.)
pumping with photo booth set to emo
Happy boobquake. Although I have to admit, this is really more like geyser territory.