Yesterday morning I was hunched over a jam jar, massaging my breast so that with each little droplet of milk I released, my pain would be eased.
"I know this is really unattractive..." I say to Bushman, who is possibly so deeply traumatised by the birth experience that I could cut of my own leg in front of him and he wouldn't flinch.
"....but these breasts are so painful"
I really cannot believe that I am doing this. There are a number of things about this situation that my brain cannot comprehend. Firstly, that I am even able to touch my breasts in this manner considering my nipple phobia and secondly that the reason that I am having to do this is because I am going for an interview this morning. Yes, you read that right. My daughter is not three weeks old and I am going into work to see if I can bag a promotion. I sound like some career-crazed superwoman. I am not. I just need a bigger house to put all these goddamn children in.
So that I could put in a good performance, my mother persuaded me to hand over both my children to her so that I could get a good nights sleep. I sobbed as I handed over my new daughter and wasn't really sure why I was sobbing. It was just all too much.
So here I was, Friday morning, tits like rocks because I hadn't breastfed and images in my mind of me, all serious-faced in the interview whilst gallons of milk seeped from my breasts, soaking my breast pads and creating rings on my dress. I wiped the image from my mind, pulled on a variety of suport underwear, covered my face in so much make up that I looked like a waxwork and charged into battle.
I put in about as good a performance as I could and rushed back home to my daughter so that I could get the milk off my chest. Now only time will tell. I should find out early next week whether my efforts were in vain.
Anyway, talking of getting things off my chest this breastfeeding malarkey is really getting on my tits. The mild sense of success I felt when I got past day three, my nipples having bled, scabbed and practically dropped off and the pain had started to ease, has subsided. People kept promising me that it would get easier.
"You'll do it in your sleep" they said.
I mean, could you sleep if a mouse was gnawing and clawing at your toes?
No. Of course you couldn't.
This isn't getting any easier. I'm bored, sore and tired and on the verge of giving up.
I am not a dairy queen.