F***ula

Before you have children there are certain things you say you'd never do as a parent. I'm not sure where this insane perfectionism comes from; I mean, it's not like you'd go into a new job and promise yourself beforehand that you will never forget to re-load your stapler or that you'll only use Bic pens. The first of these insane parenting rules is to avoid using a dummy at all costs. Well, I'm not sure who created that rule, but I'm pretty sure they haven't experienced a baby like mine who screams 80% of the day unless he's stuck to my boob. So here I'm left with 3 options: 1) to hear him scream constantly all day, 2) to have him permanently stuck to me, or 3) to use a dummy. Option 3 was selected on day two of his arrival. You whisper the word 'dummy' when you need it as though it is some unspeakable swearword.

Another such swearword is epidural, or any kind of pain relief for that matter. There's an unspoken rule that natural is 'best' and deep down all women want to believe this. I for one, am one of them! I certainly don't think it's unrealistic to experience a positive birth - I know many women who have, but when a select few of those women say things like 'I'm so proud of myself, I did it without pain relief', what that sounds like to those who've had difficult births is 'you didn't persevere enough; you didn't have a 'successful' childbirth. Well, I for one call a success by it's product; I don't care how Cadbury's chocolate got on our shelves, I'm just glad it's there to enjoy. It makes no difference to me if someone pushed them onto the conveyor belt with a headache they didn't take a paracetamol for.

Albie has had a particularly difficult day today - he has been crying constantly, and I've tried everything. He seems restless when I feed him like there's just not enough, the only reason I need breast pads is to act as some sort of bandage. I'm just sat trying to feed him all day, I'm miserable and in pain. And when I'm not feeding I'm trying to stock up on expressed milk, of which today I've produced a big fat zero. His screaming reached a crescendo this afternoon and I just flipped; I reached for a carton of f***ula in desperation - there's another of those words that I can't even bring myself to say - the F word. I feel guilty. He gluggled it down like there was no tomorrow, and I cried (just for a change!) because I haven't done the 'best' for my child yet again. At least it saves me from saying actual expletives which would have been the case had I pursued with feeding him myself.

Based on diary extract from 15/02/11