Harper and I spend a lot of time on the rocking armchair in his nursery, where I feed him most of the time if we're home. Next to the chair is a little side table, with a small CD player, my bottle of water, a burp rag or two, and whatever book I can read in 20-minute increments. (I don't always turn my focus away from my baby while feeding him, but even the most besotted mama needs a little break from gazing at her beloved from time to time.)

In my short breastfeeding career thus far, I've found a couple of books that are ideal for Reading While Feeding. The requirements: The book must be a size that can be held comfortably in one hand, the chapters or sections must be short so that the book can be put aside quickly, and the content must be engaging but not too heavy, since a squirmy four-month old can be quite distracting.

Currrently on the nursery table is Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year. This book is what every mommy blog wishes it could be when it grows up. It's full of little literary snapshots from Lamott's early days of single motherhood with her son, Sam. As in her other works, Lamott's writing here is simultaneously funny, heartbreaking, deeply spiritual and breezily conversational--as a new mom myself, I find myself wishing I could meet her at a cafe with the babies in their strollers and kvetch over decaf lattes about how many times we woke up the night before or how all our bras smell like sour milk.

Here are a couple of my favorite quotes so far:

"People kept trying to prepare me for how soft and mushy my stomach would be after giving birth, but I secretly thought, Not this old buckerina. I think most people undergoing chemo secretly believe they won't lose their hair.

Oh, but my stomach, she is like a waterbed covered with flannel now. When I lie on my side in bed, my stomach lies politely beside me, like a puppy."

"He laughed today for the first time... His laughter was like little bells. Then there was the clearest silence, a hush, before total joyous pandemonium broke out between Julie and me. Then we both stared almost heartbrokenly into his face. I thought of Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird," verse five:

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after."

I think this book could be enjoyable even for readers who aren't moms themselves, but it will surely ring truer for anyone who's ever been a new mom on the verge (or for anyone who's been friends with one).