This is an essay I asked my wife if I a could publicly post few years ago.
It's a very intimate conversation about breastfeeding, but more importantly, about the amazing devotion my wife has to our kids. 2005 was a time in which I started writing about things outside of the church. This is still a work in progress and is more David Sedaris than youth pastor. I've often thought about compiling some of these into a book one day. We'll see. It's purely an exploration of writing for me.
Enjoy.
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Zach wants to give me a "nipple cracker". I know this because the words, "Dad, would you like a nipple cracker?" just came from his 8 year old mouth.
Mental pictures flood my mind. None of them pretty. Images of Ritz and Saltines crackers specially shaped like nipples fly through my mind. Then I think of my wife.
While Pam was nursing our daughter Mikayla, they both got "Thrush". That’s what the Dr. said, “Thrush.” I don’t know where a person gets this ailment or who got it first, but the infection that sounds like an elephant running through a long tunnel of palm leaves has invaded my family.
The symptoms of “Thrush” are, and bear with me here, large cracks across a woman’s nipples.
Imagine a nipple with the equivalent of the Grand Canyon running at a 45 degree angle through a fully erect nipple. Please, don't imagine my wife's nipple, just a generic nipple will do. And though I’ve never personally been to the Grand Canyon, I hear it takes your breath away. Which is what “Thrush” on my wife’s nipple did to me. That and make me exclaim, “Oh my God!” wincing back like a little girl, my hand covering my face.
So when my Zach inquired about my interest in a nipple cracker my first thought was, “uh.. no.”
They tell me “thrush” is a yeast infection. When a woman is breast feeding and the baby develops a yeast infection in her mouth, the mother is infected in the breast, and it has a pretty dramatic effect on the nipple. Both of Pam’s breasts were infected, but the infection had a certain fondness for her right breast.
Of course it doesn't help that my daughter was still learning to nurse and often confused my wife with a chew-toy, thus, helping with the canyon effect. Lift and separate maybe often be a desirable and sexy look for a woman, but not within a nipple.
Imagine a duck facing you, head tilted to the side, its’ bill open wide open.
Yep. That’s pretty much it.
Let me tell you about my wife. She loves her kids. She believes in breastfeeding and the health of her baby. So when she was diagnosed with THRUSH it was only something to work through. Did I mention that THRUSH is painful?
"My nipple feels like it's on fire!" My wife would complain.
"So, it burns around your nipple?" I would ask.
Her face screamed wrong answer.
She calmly spoke words I’ll never forget, words that echo in my male mind as if it were a nipple canyon.
“My nipple feels like it's on FIRE! And when Mikayla nurses it feels like there is glass on the inside of my boob!”
Then Pam looks me at me, chin forward and moves her jaw in a chewing motion.
“She bites you?!” That’s me cringing in the corner, with my ears covered.
Pam is relentless. “And it feels like there is broken glass on the inside!”
“Broken glass? Are you kidding me?” I can’t go there. “Is it like a burning ring of fire?”
She’s steady. “Fire and glass buddy. Broken glass.”
I suddenly feel compelled to do something for her. “Um… Would you like a glass of water?”
Nipple cracker? More like nipple crater.
Pam shows me the Royal Gorge right there again before she attempts to “latch” our daughter on.
The doctor says we have to treat Pam and Mikayla at the same time for this “Thrush”. The treatment involves oral medication for Mikayla and lotion for Pam.
Before I was married the ideas of boobs and lotion took on a completely different meaning for me. If you had told me there would come a time, 11 years into our marriage, when I’d be talking about my wife putting lotion on her breast, I’d have thought something completely different was going on. I assure you it did not include a nipple torn asunder.
Life as parents is an adventure and it’s harder than you think it’s going to be. You view parenting differently from an immaculate vacuum of inexperience as a young person. It’s an innocent and naïve perspective, void of mammory trauma or bloody suckling. I had always known parenting would be hard, but not nipple cracker hard.
Single guys reading the last sentence only see the words, nipple and hard. Their world does not and can not involve cracked nipples. The closest thing they come to this kind of thing is wearing a loosely fitting life-vest at the lake and getting that kind of nipple chaffing after a long day on a wake-board. Dude, trust me, my wife was totally wishing for a little chaffing. Wake-board nipple rash tickles. My wife thinks you are a pansy surfer dude. (Ok. So I made that line up.)
I won’t get into the calluses. Nor will I get into the long healing process necessary for a lotioned up nipple cracked, bleeding and being sucked 8 times a day by an infant we have nick-named “chompers”.
I tried to avoid making eye contact with the nipple for a while. I just couldn’t look. A man can only take so much broken nipple views in his life before a tear takes place in the space-time continuum and the male fascination with mammory glands comes untethered, this connection men have with breasts can not be tampered with. This connection that confuses so many women, this love of the booby.
The doctor told Pam she could stop breast feeding. That the pain would get better and it would keep Mikayla from passing it to her over and over again. But Pam who knows the benefits of breastfeeding said no. Some women would walk over burning coals or broken glass for their kids. Pam actually did, on her breasts, because she continued to breastfeed our daughter.
Now you all know a bit of married life as well. But that’s for another essay.
Zachery is waiting for an answer. “Dad!” He pokes me in the chest as I sit next to him.
“Do you want a nipple cracker?” I snap out of my dazed nipply daydream.
“What’s a nipple cracker son?”
Wild eyes look back at me. “It’s when you grab someone’s nipple, pinch and twist.”
Laughter.
“Oh. I see. Where did you learn about a nipple cracker son?”
“School.”
“No. I don’t want a nipple cracker and Zach I don’t want you to ever give one to your brother!”
“Come on dad! Please?!”
“Go ask your mom if she wants one.”
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