Once in a while, someone says something that makes you glad you aren’t a pygmy in the middle of some very hungry rebels. In my case, I was indeed not a pygmy, although I have enough “extra ballast” sitting around my midriff that would feed a whole army of rebels for a good meal or two. This is because my body was carved by naked maidens in the middle of a jungle. Sadly, they were blind, and were less than skilled in the art of chiseling the perfect body. Instead, they spent 10 minutes chipping a few bits away and then staggered off to the pub to see if they could continue to drink themselves back to sight.
Instead, it was something much more disturbing.
Because I am a generally great guy and want to help my wife with the long nights encountered with a teething child, I have on occasion (I think once in 6 months…not sure, may be less, but the last time I asked my wife, I lost a finger in the ongoing battle) offered my services to help with the nightly spending time with our crying/screaming/sneezing/teething child and getting her back to sleep. This was usually done by inserting a bottle of the good stuff in her mouth and she would have a feed and have a nap.
And then my wife came up with an idea to stop our daughter having as many night feeds as she is having.
“I just put her on my breast for 5 minutes and it soothes her!” my wife told me cheerfully. (I felt loathsome that my daughter gets to play with the promised land and I don’t)
“Are you saying to me that I should attach our baby to my manbreast to help her sleep?” I replied.
She happily replied with “Well it will only be for 5 minutes, and once you get over the initial weird feeling, it is completely natural!”
“OK, let me clarify here. You are saying I should let my daughter suck on my nipple in the name of her going back to sleep??????????” I replied with a confused and worried voice.
“Yeah!” She said. Again, chirpily and starting to really freak me out.
“I think you should do the nightly feeds from now on.” I replied…and went on the look out for something to drown the pain of what I had just heard. Paint stripper was the winner.
Now OK. Am I being weird for not wanting to have my daughter chow down on my manboobs?
Crocodile clips on my joy department…fine. Candle Wax poured by an erotic damsel dressed in nothing more than a roll of clingfilm and a smile all over my toes…ok, if you feel you should, I wont put up a fight.
But my daughter “soothing herself to sleep” on those things that have no use whatsoever on a man? (apart from relocation of said crocodile clips…you know…if you are in to that….) I feel ill.
I want to be “Modern Day Dad” who gets involved for sure…but some things should be left to the woman. Full Stop.
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