How It Does Not Help at All: Well, sometimes it just doesn't. Different sources estimate that anywhere from 2 to 5 percent of mothers physically cannot produce enough milk for their babies. Past that 2 to 5 percent, there's another subgroup that technically can produce enough milk if they push themselves, in the same sense that an average guy might technically be able to deadlift a log twice his body weight in an adrenalin-charged emergency. For example, if his best friend was trapped under the log in a burning building and he was willing to injure himself trying to lift it. (As Cracked readers are generally more ripped than the average person, you can substitute whatever weight would have that effect.)

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A typical Cracked reader at age 5.

The time the "your body will naturally make enough milk" mantra starts sounding accusatory and discouraging is after a mom has tried everything and it's taken its toll. When I came to this point, I had been trying all sorts of things: feeding 30 minutes every two hours all day and night, taping tubes onto the nipple to sneak milk into the baby's mouth, and in between that, pumping with a human milking machine and trying every stupid herb and weird food that people suggested. The baby cried every time he was put on the boob, because he's not dumb and he knew it was mostly empty. I also cried, because my nipples were raw and blistered and bleeding and it was agony whenever he latched on.

To go back to the log analogy, this is the moment where the guy is exhausted and his body is falling apart from trying to rescue his best friend. He's got a dislocated shoulder, and every attempt is torture. He is going to keep trying because this is his best friend, just like I'm going to keep trying because it's my baby. He is probably also going to be a bit discouraged if someone just shrugs and says, "Well, that's what your muscles were made to do. It should be the most natural thing in the world," because how did that person get there and why isn't he helping? But also, that's not a real encouraging thing to say.

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"Hey, man, when do you think you're going to finish up in there?"

"It's not a really big deal," that kind of talk implies. "Any jerk off the street could do it. You're probably not trying very hard."

Everybody's different, but if I was that guy, I'd be encouraged if someone shouted, "Get out of there! You're crazy!" Maybe the trapped friend goes, "Go! Save yourself! I know you did your best!" I already wanted to save my friend, but now that everyone thinks I'm nuts for doing it and it can't be done, I also feel like it would be a totally insane, heroic thing to do. I would make more endorphins and shout "PAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY!" and rip that log in half.

Paradoxically, sometimes telling people it's OK to quit is exactly what they need to not quit, because you're also telling them you're impressed by what they've done already and that continuing to try would be going above and beyond. I personally started my turnaround when I accepted that it would be OK if I failed. We actually bought a Costco-size can of formula. Somehow it brought me peace. Then I went back at it with a vengeance, and I fed that damn baby nothing but breast milk until the six-month mark, exactly like the God damn books say.

A lot of people want to avoid any kind of negative talk about breast-feeding because they think it'll make people quit faster, but when you're in the midst of the horror show that is a bad breast-feeding situation, what you really need to keep going is people willing to believe you're giving it 110 percent and you've paid more than your dues, not wondering why you're being so whiny about something anyone can do.

How It Does Not Help at All: If a baby cannot be bored, then whenever he gets tired of whatever he is doing, something else must be the problem. Maybe he doesn't like being left alone. Maybe he needs a nap. Maybe he is concerned about rising income inequality in this country. You try to address all these things, but none of them help because he is frickin bored.

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"I have to disagree, Mom; I feel unemployment is a far more telling indicator than the Dow's performance."

I am not demanding that I be allowed to put him in front of the TV. I could take him on a walk. I could give him another toy to play with. I could call the dog over and order him to act stupid. I could sing a song. I'm pretty sure these are good things for babies, and I'm pretty sure a lot of parents will give them a try if you allow the possibility that the baby might be bored. Not every parent is just champing at the bit to put on Dora the Explorer the moment you give them the slightest opportunity, forcing you to lie to them to keep them in line.

Not only does it not help, it can hurt. If I take my baby to someone's house and I believe he can't get bored, why shouldn't I just drop him in a cardboard box and give him a pacifier instead of taking him around to watch people and look at the different rooms? Babies can get bored, and you should help them out by interacting with them and letting them look at different real-world things. Is that so hard to say? Are we so scared of TV that we have to oversimplify this?

For some babies, that much spitting up is a medical problem, either standard acid reflux or something called GERD, which sounds like something you have to tell your kid not to call other kids. But not mine. He was what they call a "happy spitter," which sounds kind of dirty, but just means that even though he throws up left and right, it doesn't bring up acid that burns his throat and makes him cry. He'll just toss his cookies while playing or watching you sing to him and continue as if nothing happened. It also means the doctors just shrug their shoulders at you and can do nothing.

What this comes out to is that for a long time I could not just pop up in the morning and let him drink as much boob as he wanted or else we would have a barf party. The experts claimed that this would never be a problem, but my furniture claims otherwise.

How It Does Not Help at All: This is like saying "You're only going to be waterboarded for 96 more hours." If you're nearly suicidal at two weeks, getting literally no more than two hours of sleep at a time, the baby crying inconsolably for at least 15 minutes every time you try to change his diaper or rock him to sleep or feed him or do anything (if your baby has "colic" this comes out to more than three hours of crying a day), two-plus months sounds like an eternity.

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"WAAAAH WAAAAH, YOU PUT A HAT ON ME, IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD, WAAAAH."

From your helpful friends' point of view, they are reassuring you that it will only be 2.5 more months. From the harried parents' point of view, they are being told that this will not end for at least 2.5 more months. "Enjoy this time, they grow up so fast," is also a cruel, cruel thing to say at this point, although it makes perfect sense to me now with my kid at 8 months. I used to stare shell-shocked into my friends' eyes as they came to visit and wail, "THEY GROW UP SO SLOWLY," like a doomed ghost.

So this puts the friends in a tough spot. Facts are facts; they can't very well lie and say it will end any sooner. So what's a better alternative? Maybe some comfort along the lines of "one day at a time" that directs your gaze away from the infinitely distant horizon, or even better, my favorite phrase of all, "Would you like me to come by and hold the baby for a few hours so you can get a nap?" I would be willing to give that person anything I had, even my firstborn child ... no wait, especially my firstborn child.

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