parenthood means googling "frothy baby poo" at 4am
To add to my list of things which suck about feeding from the bosoms: mastitis. I developed a raging fever on Thursday night and a bosom that was both rock hard and so painful that even Z breathing near it would cause me to wince and restrain the urge to hit him.
And so I cried because I was too weak with fever to hold the baby and could hardly feed him, and Z cried because he realised just how stressful it is to be the person looking after a baby all day and night and then I cried when I went to the GP with my rockhard bosom and my fever of 39C and my inconsolable baby and the receptionist was all "You are 8 minutes late and you will have to rebook" and I think I said things along the lines of "I have a newborn baby and a bosom of doom and I can barely walk and do you have a soul" which I guess was effective because we did get seen and antibioticised and they kicked in and now I feel human again.
Having to break up bosomal blockages the size of quails eggs through the medium of massage was about as much as the mastitis itself, but hey! everyone is all better now and the child has developed two new tricks:
1) Enjoying having an immense poo literally seconds after I've finished changing him or seconds before I put on his nappy
2) On a good day going up to 5 blessed hours between feedings.
My new trick is to remain remarkably chilled out about the baby's screamings when it's Z's turn to entertain him.
On a non-afflicted note, today Z bounced the baby and suggested I might like to make lunch through the subtle medium of song:
Please make us food if you could
For food is good
And if you make food
It will be not rude
And we can cut some wood*
* (Because taking out the christmas tree and doing the dishes doesn't rhyme)
And so I cried because I was too weak with fever to hold the baby and could hardly feed him, and Z cried because he realised just how stressful it is to be the person looking after a baby all day and night and then I cried when I went to the GP with my rockhard bosom and my fever of 39C and my inconsolable baby and the receptionist was all "You are 8 minutes late and you will have to rebook" and I think I said things along the lines of "I have a newborn baby and a bosom of doom and I can barely walk and do you have a soul" which I guess was effective because we did get seen and antibioticised and they kicked in and now I feel human again.
Having to break up bosomal blockages the size of quails eggs through the medium of massage was about as much as the mastitis itself, but hey! everyone is all better now and the child has developed two new tricks:
1) Enjoying having an immense poo literally seconds after I've finished changing him or seconds before I put on his nappy
2) On a good day going up to 5 blessed hours between feedings.
My new trick is to remain remarkably chilled out about the baby's screamings when it's Z's turn to entertain him.
On a non-afflicted note, today Z bounced the baby and suggested I might like to make lunch through the subtle medium of song:
Please make us food if you could
For food is good
And if you make food
It will be not rude
And we can cut some wood*
* (Because taking out the christmas tree and doing the dishes doesn't rhyme)