The breastfeeding struggles continue, just when I thought I was home and dry and had finally nailed one aspect of this parenting lark, my daughter says “hahaha, dream on sucker!”.
My husband had man flu last week and this is a forewarning for post baby life, it really doesn’t matter if you’re sick too with the same virus. It really doesn’t, it’s not important. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with the washing, he’s clearly dying and you’re not. So on this fateful day I decided to go out in order to save our marriage. I ended up in town and our local library had a child’s health clinic so I got her weighed. She’s been feeding every hour/two in the night so was expecting a nice beefy number but no such luck. Either she has a ridiculous metabolism that I really envy or something’s wrong. Turns out she’s not only lost the ability to sleep but also to breastfeed. Her latch is now as shallow as Donald trump so she’s not getting enough good calories. So I’ve been expressing to the point that I actually feel sorry for cows.
After an expressing session today I walked down our hallway and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror… I looked like a textbook new mum. My hair was up in some kind of Amy winehouse gone wrong look, I’m wearing joggers I bought when I was 7 months pregnant and a maternity t shirt. To sum this up in one word… horrendous.
When I was pregnant I couldn’t wait to chuck out my maternity clothes and wear my old threads again but I forgot about the fact that my old clothes won’t fit. Throw in the fact that everything has to be nursing friendly, my wardrobe is very limited, ill fitting and mostly covered in baby poo or vomit.