The author and her mother at their home in 1983.When he was 5, my son went through a phase where he would climb up onto the couch where I was sitting, plop himself on my lap and punch my breasts, squish them in his hands, then try to pinch my nipples. I’d push his arms down and pull away, saying, “Ouch! That hurts, buddy. Please, don’t poke me there.”
My daughter, then an inquisitive 6-year-old, was more likely to ask pointed questions. A conversation might start like this: “Mom, why do women have breasts but not men?”
We talked about how men do have breast tissue and nipples but that women’s breasts look different – bigger, bouncier – because they serve a different function.
And then, “Did you breastfeed us, Mom?”
She knew the answer, but she asked anyway.
“No, I didn’t breast...
English (US)