It does get better

I was talking to my friend Nancy this week about her new nephew (also named Jack) and I asked how her sister-in-law was doing with the baby. She said good, but that she was saying how no one tells you how painful nursing is.

And I told her to assure her sister-in-law that it will indeed get better. It doesn't feel like a red-hot poker in your bra forever. Nor do you cry every time you even think about a breeze hitting them. And yes, you can eventually take a shower and let the water directly touch the nipples.

Amazingly, the haze of the first few weeks is a good thing because it helps you forget about the horrid pain and recovery and the not sleeping and OHMYGOD THE NIPPLE PAIN.

Everyone kept saying it would get better around six weeks. I was skeptical.

When you're in the midst of it, there seems to be no way out. I was convinced I would be biting the inside of my mouth and digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand every time he latched on until he was eating solid foods and would take pity on me by weaning himself.

But it really did get better around six weeks.

Now at nine weeks, I don't even need to look at him. I can pop him off and on and tell if he's got the proper latch with my eyes closed.

When we were first starting out, I would get frustrated because he would be so hungry and flailing his arms and moving his head back and forth. I would desperately be trying to shove the boob in his face and hold his arms down and get his mouth open and keep his head still.

I joked that I was the only woman on earth who needed her husband to help get her kid latched on. Josh would hold his arms and steady his head for me until I could get him to take the damn thing correctly.

But I knew stopping was not an option for me. I really believe he gets such great benefits from breastmilk and it's a good thing for me too. The weight came off quickly and I learned that for 20-30 minutes at a time, I just need to calm down, chill and let him do his thing. I rarely try to multitask when I feed Jack, just because it's a good time for us to bond.

(If you decided to formula feed, I applaud you. I see the benefits to that and I am a little jealous you aren't tied to the baby or the pump 24 hours a day. It's awesome we have a choice of how to feed babies and I support formula so please, no e-mails. I am not a hater.)

But as this breastfeeding relationship evolves, it continues to make me laugh.

I think back to the face Jack used to make right before he started eating. He would shake his head back and forth and screw up his features like "What the hell is this?"

Now, he sees the boob and he gets excited. Much like any other red-blooded man. It's almost like I can't get him situated fast enough. He gets so pissed if I take too long, almost like he's saying "God DAMN woman. Give me that boob. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

Recently, he's started flailing around and pushing at me with his arms. It's like he has a love-hate relationship with the boobs.

"No, I want to look around! But yes, I want the food! Gimme the food! Gimme gimme gimme. Mmmmmmm. OK, more looking around, and now, let's grab her shirt. And what's this? I can scratch her with my nails? Cool! Let's see what she does when I pull my head waaaaay back with the nipple in my mouth. Wow, I had no idea mommy's eyes could roll back in her head like that."

He even banged himself so hard in the eyebrow with his fist tonight, he left a red mark. he rubs his eyes like he wants to poke them out of his head and he's taken to staring at me like "I dare you to try to stop me. I am the master of this domain."