What do you do when the person you love so much looks at you and has only one thought: “She looks delicious!” When his mouth waters when you’re within arm’s reach of him? When he works himself into a frenzy searching for the third nipple on your neck, your forearm, the outside of your shirt? (My husband has looked, too, but the baby won’t take his word that it’s purely mythical.)
The answer is you start wearing loose clothing and easy-access bras. You bare your breasts in public or in the backseat of your car—whichever is classier at the moment. You walk through the house shirtless and with something attached to your boob, trying to find the blasted phone. You *occasionally* sit on the toilet and have a B.M. while your nipple is methodically tugged on. You coat said nipples with creams and oils in hopes to numb some of the pain. You start to understand more and more what the Velveteen Rabbit felt like by the end of the book.
Because even though you are nothing more than a food source to this grasping, rooting, crying thing, he is everything to you. Everything. And even though it seems he is the one who needs you, you realize that it is actually you who needs him so desperately.
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time…REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
From The Velveteen Rabbit
Thank you, Vincenzo and Angelo and Rocco, for making me Real.