My Ninnies Need a Spa Vacation.

Maybe I thought it would be less painful the second time around. Or less of a hassle. Truth is, it's the same. Those first days - oh so painful - like a trillion tiny knives. Apparently, boobs are not like feet - no calluses here people. And once the milk came in, there was a near drowning experience every time she ate. (God forbid she let go mid-feed, setting off the milk sprinkler into her own face). Once we got that under control, there was the puking down my side without warning, mid-feed. And whenever I try to be discreet by throwing a blanket over my shoulder she spazzes out under there and we have to go into full crises mode so I don't flash the whole room. Don't underestimate the horror of the occasional forgotten nursing pad (my boss's wife may have wondered why I was crossing my arms so tightly across my chest and rushing the conversation last weekend). Or what about the pad that falls on the floor in the middle of a restaurant (I thought Scott was going to die - you'd think the things were used maxi pads the way he looks at them). And then there is the fact that you pretty much have to sleep in a bra every night. Poor melons don't get any fresh air. Ya ya ya, I know, it's worth it in the end (and once you start a $30/week formula habit it's impossible to stop). But, I can't say that I am one of these mom's that going to wax poetic about the great bonding time I have with my baby while nursing. I see it more like sitting on an excercycle. Whenever I need a push through the pain, I just close my eyes and imagine the calories I'm burning.