I'm wasn't a big breast-feeder. In fact, being the father, I didn't think I would breast-feed at all. But a friend of the mother's convinced me to try it. "Anyone can do it," the friend said. "You just hold the baby's lips to your nipple, and the baby will latch on and suck."

"Whoa," I said. "Wait a minute. Would you do that?"

"Of course," the friend said. "Anytime I baby-sit, I'd do it as a pacifier."

I had doubts. Wouldn't breast-feeding make me worse than a new man, make me actually a girlie man? Wouldn't the baby's sucking at my nipples stimulate some sort of growth hormone? Wouldn't I go from being a he-man, albeit a caregiving he-man, to being a she-male? Would I have to switch from dry living to wet-nursing? I didn't know, but I wanted to find out.

So the next time I baby-sat, I was ready. When the tiny one started crying, I lifted my shirt and turned her head to my chest. She opened her formerly scrunched eyes and saw my diminutive rosebuds. She didn't think twice; she just turned away from my waiting raisins. I held her for a while, rocking her, coaxing her, sticking my nipples in her face, but I got no glottal action.

Perhaps, I thought, I should take a breast-feeding course. I would practice with dolls, perfect my presentation, learn to fill the mouth with an airtight seal, avoid being bitten. Perhaps I should start with a breast pump-the machine wouldn't refuse; that I knew. Or maybe I should fool the baby with the old milk tube trick. I'd attach one end of a hollow plastic strand to a milk container and the other end to my non-breast, hook the baby to the hose, and bring her epiglottis to my areola. I'd surely get some suction that way.

Did I want to breast-feed that badly? I wasn't sure. Perhaps there were some things I just wasn't meant to do, like touch my elbow with the fingers on that same arm, put a foot behind my head, or lift my upper lip over my face.

And anyway, when the mother of our baby was home and I wasn't baby-sitting, I occupied a different spot on the food chain. The feeding imperative didn't drive me. At those times, I kept my nipples where they belonged.