"Go on, he won't bite!"...will he?

He has teeth. Two top, two bottom. And he has discovered how to use them. Woe is me.

I am no longer nursing a baby, who pats my collarbone while he gently suckles and gazes at me lovingly. No, those days are over.

Now, I am nursing a pirana, who swings his leg up to kick me in the chest while he bites me and darts his gaze all over the room, and even this only happens when he decides he has the free time to eat, and can be pulled away from entertaining himself with an empty water bottle long enough for some breakfast.

It's much less fun this way.

I hated nursing the first few months. It was excruciating and draining. He wouldn't latch. Then he wouldn't latch well. Then he would latch but he only wanted the right one. It was so stressful, and felt so unnatural for us. We did not take to it quickly, and we did not find our rhythm until he was several months old.

But when we did...oh, it was lovely. It was snuggly, and warm, and sweet. He was happy, he would fall asleep in my arms and I felt so tender, so capable. I enjoyed it so much. And we figured out how to nurse lying down, and in the car, and sitting on the floor of a strange place without our special nursing pillow, and it was great. I was Queen of the World! I was doing it! I was going to be a good Mom after all!!

Now it's hard again. He's squirmy, he's bored, and he bites. I feel anxious about it again. I do not feel satisfied and calm. I feel like I am wrestling a python and asking it to sink its teeth in. I feel crazy.

Sigh...

Is it too late to sell him to gypsies?