Photo by Flickr user mick y. Used under a Creative Commons license.

As long as I’m obsessing about breasts I ought to mention this post from a while back by Shelah, of the always interesting, no-kidding Feminist Mormon Housewives. Her last (planned) daughter just finished breastfeeding and now Selah asks a question more common than a lot of people think

Other than the navel, I can’t think of any other external body parts that stay with us after they’ve ceased to be useful. My navel, tiny as it is, doesn’t require it’s own separate undergarment. My breasts, on the other hand, continue to be front and center, even though now they are at best, a pleasant place to rest a hand or a reminder of times gone by, and, at worst, a potential breeding ground for lumps and tumors.

It’s not that I don’t like my breasts, don’t appreciate them for what they’ve done, but now that they’ve served their main purpose, it seems kind of silly to me to think that they’re such a force in our culture– that they, in the minds of many people, sum up a woman’s womanhood. We’ve had all of these posts about pornography lately, and when I think about how pornography basically boils down to breasts (I know that’s overly simplistic, but when I think porn, I think breasts), I look at my own and think, “This is what all the fuss is about?”

She said it here.

Breasts haven’t even always been a force in our culture in our culture! (Some times it’s been asses, elsewhen it’s been legs or ankles or necks. And round and round and round.)

And by the way, I’m not pretending to be above it all, not at all, at all. Breasts for me are pretty important signifiers of age and sex. Even though, at least for me, it’s complicated in the sense that, say, mastectomy scars count but “man boobs” don’t.