As predicted all the white babygrows are now a fetching shade of blue/grey, ahh well.
Me
I am writing this hunched over the computer, shoulders raised in tension with a baby on my lap feeding. I was going to write about how much I hate breastfeeding. I hate it because I get no ‘me’ time whatsoever, time to do anything is snatched between feeds, usually when I should be asleep because he is. I hate it ‘cos it hurts like hell when he latches on and I hate it ‘cos I feel guilty for hating it. However, I have decided that it is easier for everyone if I just pretend that there is nothing I would rather do than sit for hours with a baby gnawing at my nipples. It is my pleasure to breastfeed, not a chore (repeat mantra hourly). This is the path of least resistance and it does mean that I get to read a lot of books and do a lot of pelvic floor exercises, though I am not convinced that they are working.
The Small Thing
Louder and stronger by the minute, Small is rapidly outgrowing his clothes. Luckily he has a huge hand me down collection so this is not a problem, and I enjoy dressing him up. He is still dinky enough to get a lot of attention when we are out though, and I have to drag myself out of adoration for him to politely respond with pleasantries about other peoples children. Not easy, as he is so obviously the best baby in the world. He’s had some nappy rash that Weleda cream sorted out in a day and has now got a cot beside the bed (with the drop side taken off) so he can’t kick me in the head all night. He seems quite happy there most of the time and it is possible that he didn’t enjoy sleeping with us, ungrateful sod!
We had a bit of a scare when he started grunting at 3 am. Because he had breathing difficulties when he was born we are sensitive to things like that, and I called NHS Direct who were fabulous and got a doctor to call me back as a high priority. We went through a list of symptoms and the doctor said he sounded like he had a bit of a blocked nose and to take him into the hospital if it got worse. He didn’t get worse, but he has got noisier and the grunts are interspersed with whistles, chirrups and the words ‘gay’ and ‘leg’, maybe he is trying to tell us something. Along with my chins he has also inherited my snore, that’s my boy!
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