Its been a long week. Little Man came into being at 7.05 on Monday morning, and since then its been a mix of sleep deprivation, wondering why he won’t eat, wondering if he’ll ever stop eating, wondering if he’ll ever wake up, wondering if he’ll ever just go to bloody sleep… and some more sleep deprivation on the part of Mammy.
He currently looks a little like he’d belong on Geordie Shore, in a slightly jaundiced but not medically broken enough to do anything about it way. Which is amusing a little once you know he’s okay, but the fact that its there at all is just something to add to the worry pile.
The last two nights in a row we have been breastfeeding exclusively. I mean this in both senses of the word; not using bottles, and only breastfeeding. The fact that I am writing this at 6.22 in the morning after just settling him back into his cot for (I hope) longer than ten minutes is an indicator that theres something very wrong in Whoville. Not very wrong as such, but my sleep patterns have come to recognise that the second I try to close my eyes, or get comfortable in the hospital bed, the normal whimper and moan will start, and if ignored it will turn into a full on scream within a minute. All for a five minute, maybe ten, feed. That he’s just finished fifteen minutes earlier, for the sixth time in about two hours. Going to bed takes a lot of time.
Apart from all of that though, he is truly wonderful. It must be love when you’re looking at this little dot who is taking all of your sleep, energy, hurting your boobs (thank you very much milk ducts), and pooing on you, and instead of horror looking at him and seeing how cute he looks today. Madness.