A Very Personal Post About... Nipples

Nipples. Everybody in the world has a pair. Some people are even lucky enough to have three! Umm, three nipples, not three pairs. In our family, everybody has two. My husband, my daughter, myself.

Mine are pretty okay. I mean they seem to do everything that they are supposed to do and my husband likes them, so I guess I have no complaints there. They are round with the perfect mix of pink and brown.

Nipples do some great things. They provide playtime while in bed with your significant other, they nourish your child from birth to age teeth, and they act as a temperature gauge on extremely cold days. Like you need it. Hey, it's butt ass freezing cold out here and to prove it we're going to turn into marble statues and rub against your clothing so that instead of getting all horny with the stimulation because it's actually too friggin' cold outside to think about sex we will cause you great pain and embarrassment from any male that walks by and happens to point them out! But I digress.

When the short person was born, it was murder trying to get her to eat from those things. Here is a free morning snack, breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, evening snack, and midnight snack-- but did she want it. No! She preferred the bottle and formula. So, given that, can someone PLEASE explain to me why now, at at 2 1/2, she can't seem to leave the darn things alone?!

Kids are quick... and sneaky. I've been sneak attacked during a hug, I've been sneak attacked while on the floor (she crawls onto the couch and attacks from above), I've been attacked just about any way you can imagine. OMG! And heaven forbid you should be caught wearing a towel. "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger"

Her little arm will sneak faster than a salamander on speed up into my shirt to find those little bumps. I'll scream and fight her off, all the while she's grabbing for them, giggling hysterically. Keep in mind those things get all perky when played with, so I'm dealing with nipples that just perk right up while utterly horrified that my daughter is causing this little effect, while she is laughing even harder because for some strange reason she thinks that mommies nipples getting bigger and harder is "the game".

Her goal.

Finally, I will succeed in removing said arm and little hands from my shirt. I will hold my arms over the bottom of my shirt, pinning it to my body, and stand up to prevent further attacks. I will go into my room in an attempt to talk to my nipples and tell then that no, it is not happy time right now. I will recover.

But hey, at least I'm not Daddy in the morning or after a shower. Or Sam, our dog. They have a little tougher time mentally with the wandering hands.

And no, if you can't figure that one out, I ain't going to explain it.