...with bells on...

So, here it is. One breastfeeding necklace complete with two tiny bells (bronze colour, centre, bottom). The Spud loves it. He tugs it and yanks on it and generally abuses it, practice, I suppose, for being 14 and having ones own pair of tiny bells learning to wrestle. The main problem with it is that I forget to take it off and end up wearing it out of the house. I’m always worried that someone is going to admire it and I’m going to just blurt out what it is which means that they will spend the entire rest of the time that they are in my company covertly staring at my boobs. Why, I don’t know, but sure enough, tell someone who doesn’t already know that you are breast-feeding and they can’t keep their eyes off the jugs.

I reported that I have been unwell and last night it was Charlie’s turn for his very first grown-up sicks. Now, we’ve had little baby sicks many-a-time. Little dollops of reflux for which clean shirt-fronts are made. As potato-boy has moved on to solid food however, these have become limited to very occasional appearances after a particularly active go at a bottle. What we have been spared, thank which ever gods you please, is proper vomiting. This all ended last night when a very confused little Spud lost his dinner at 2am all over my feet. Poor little thing clung on to me like a baby monkey afterwards and because he was just so sweet and confused and vulnerable and because we were worried he’d throw up on himself in his sleep (and not, you understand, because we are lazy and merely wanted to avoid getting up to check on him) we let him stay in our bed. On a towel, we’re not that daft. He perked right up and demanded a boob and we drifted happily off under the fiction that it was a one-off occurrence. Ten minutes later I could hear his pipes gurgling ominously and before disaster struck I picked him up gently and sat him over a towel on the edge of the bed to wait.

Not to be out-done, at this point Sammy decided that he had a hair-ball and started hacking gently onto my pillow where he had been asleep. This woke up the Frog who announced that his guts were feeling a bit dodgy and so I sat mutely on the bed cradling the spud as he heaved over one side while the cat heaved over the other and the Frog gurgled from the middle. I wasn’t sure what I needed most at that point, a plumber, a cleaner or a dose of horse-tranquiliser.

This morning, needless to say, everyone was doing just fine except for me, because I spent the night listening to them all sloshing and snoring and snuffling and all those other non-sleep-inducing ‘s’ words which include stealing the duvet AND the pillow. And, god help me, I love the lot of them. I just love sleep a tiny bit more, just tonight, just once…