Ooooph. That’s pretty much how I feel today.

My poor boobies are hurting. An added bonus to the mastitis I got yesterday are things called milk blisters. I’ll leave you to google that one if you don’t know what it is, but if you can’t be bothered, then all you need to know is that they make breastfeeding really really sore (imagine being stabbed with tiny needles for the first few minutes of every feed).

Really sore.

And they can stick around for days.

Ah well, I’m not one for complaining – much – so on to brighter topics.

Today is a proper wet, rainy day in Ireland, one that makes the Indian monsoon seem like a bit of light drizzle. Luckily, because I’ve a baby attached to me and an inability to do much more than breathe without getting boob-infections, I don’t have to go out in it.

Well, I do have to go to an acupuncture session this afternoon, something I’m hoping will help with my stress and recurring bouts of mastitis. But I’ll be snug in the car with Alex and Bowie and then snug in the therapy room for an hour. Poor Alex on the other hand will be trying to entertain Bowie for the hour or so and unable to take him for a stroll in the buggy like he did the last time.

But I think that’s fair enough given he gets to sleep soundly all night every night. I won’t go on about it again (the drool is already pooling in the corners of my mouth at the thought of it) but I’d chew off my right arm if it meant Bowie would sleep a bit more through the night. Am I exaggerating? Slightly. Only slightly.

To give Alex his credit, he took Bowie at midnight last night when I literally couldn’t handle either the stress of not sleeping or the pain of  feeding (it’s even worse when he’s only looking for a snuggle and some comfort and not really drinking, which often happens at night).

Alex armed himself with soothers and teething rings and rattles and a nigh-light that plays soothing music and ocean sounds and tried his hardest, on top of a long day at work after which he still had to get his own dinner and clean up our mess in the kitchen.

But after ten minutes of listening to Bowie’s piercing screeches (a newly acquired method of expressing his frustration when he doesn’t get what he wants) I sat up and took over.

And when Bowie woke at the dawn and clearly wasn’t going back to sleep, I handed him over again and Alex took him up to the kitchen, letting me get an extra hour of sleep. Which is just as well because I might very well have lost all touch with sanity today otherwise.

So, to end on a good note, right now as I write this, I can hear delighted squeals and shrieks coming from the sitting room, in between deep loud roars from Alex. I have a wonderful husband and a gorgeous little son.

In other words, ’tis good to be alive.

Ciao darlings!

Liz