Nipple Suckle

I've been bitchin' and moanin' because after I did the run on Sunday, my nipples became red raw. Yes, they're still called nipples regardless of whether you're a bloke or a sheila. This is what happens when your sweat laden T-shirt rubs up and down on your chest, and you haven't done the real jogger's trick of covering them with bandaids. It was after the race when I had a shower that I noticed how tender they were, and later on in the afternoon when I knew that they were bleeding.

Tonight I showed Anth. Talk about no sympathy. The little scabs had formed, and all she was interested in was giving them a pinch to make me understand what real pain feels like. The argument, of course, is that red raw nipples from running are no substitute for pain caused by a red raw nipple suckled on by a brutal baby.

Now I do realise that Callum, towards the end of his nipple sucking run, had a penchant for pulling the nipple out with his gummy teeth, along with giving it a good pinch and pull (much to his and my amusement) each time he'd had enough. They were always red raw, and she was always saying "Ouch, Callum!" And yes, I'd seen the nipple lanolin Anth had to apply to them to help the healing process. Maybe I should try some of that.

Ciao for Now, Crippled Nipple Angry Dad.