Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Wanted: Wet nurse

Based on diary extract 22.2.11

A great part of being at home with a baby is the opportunity for meeting up with friends - and although I've not been brave enough for a trip to Costa yet, I have consumed bucket loads of tea and cake with friends in the comfort of my own home (complete with background accompaniment of screaming baby). I can't imagine taking him anywhere where I'd have to think about feeding him in public or risk him screaming for apparently no reason whatsoever.
There are some friends, however, who can be more of a hindrance than a help - either because they bombard you with advice or because they come at lunch and want feeding (when the only food I have in my cupboard is a bag of haribo and an over-ripe banana). There are also the other type of friends who are well-wishers but leave me feeling totally perplexed.
One such friend came round today to meet Albie. We discussed matters of breastfeeding, mainly due to the fact that I couldn't make her a cup of tea because Albie was stuck to me like a leech the whole time. In fact I'm beginning to feel like he has become more a part of me than I ever imagined; the preconception of that is that he is so intrinsically part of my life that I can't imagine life without him and the reality is feeling like I have actually developed some sort of benign growth on my chest. My friend decided to tell me how beautiful she found breastfeeding, how she loved to wake in the night and feed, and how she could quite easily become a wet nurse. I offered her a job on the spot but she didn't seem to take me up on it. If anyone tells you they enjoy waking several times a night to feed a baby, they're either a very special sort of person (and I do believe they exist!) or they're talking complete and utter bollocks. It's basically like seeing this job advert in a paper and ripping it out in sheer excitement at the prospect of it:


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