The Boob Shark.

My boob shark.

You have heard it before, the unmistakable sound from "Jaws", the 'da-duh' that triggers goosebumps and forces you to look around and check your back and make sure there isnt a feeding frenzy taking place.

That sound has been replaced by "wa-wah's" echoing in our bedroom, requiring me to pull out my boob and bite my lips as my little "boob-shark" latches on in an all too familiar frenzy.

The mere smell of milk sets him off and he begins to root around furiously in search of his target--the ever so forgiving nipple. God forbid, he loses sight of his target in the darkened room, as he will latch onto anything--a finger, a shirt, the sheet-- only to spit it out with anger and rage.

For whatever reason, my little angel who nurses so peacefully during the day turns into "Jaws" at night. Hence the reason we have started calling him, "the boob shark", so nursing mothers and sore nipples beware because when the lights go down, the boob shark is on the prowl.