I was lucky that my baby went to sleep moments before the NCAA Championship game between MEMPHIS and Kansas. Aiden, Gram and I had all been looking forward to it... and G-Dad (Granddad, my dad) and Spanky (my brother) were in San Antonio, which gave us more impetus to watch the game. After the tip off, I settled in the recliner with a frozen baby washrag on my swollen, red breast. As titillating as the game was, I was distracted by the possibility that I may be fighting mastitis... and currently do not know the status of my health insurance. To take meds or not... thus the cold compress, massage and Tylenol approach.
This evening followed a long, harrowing day that leaves mommies achy and tired. My desire to enjoy a beer or two was overwhelmed by an increasing fatigue that can most likely be blamed on my son's early teething. Hence the wet washcloth in the freezer. (Which, after a painful cleaning at the dentist, I tried on my own gums and decided that it is definitely a natural pain reliever. Needless to say, this bizarre act had to be explained to my own mother who walked in the room as I was biting down on the washcloth).
It was a close game- and I was on the edge of my seat cheering on the Tigers- but my anxiety detracted from the excitement in San Antonio as I thought of Aiden's sudden nursing strike, a result of teething, that contributed to my breast pain. As preventable as mastitis can be, who has the time to pump, apply hot and cold compresses AND take several hot showers day? I mean- who is caring for this infant while moms do all that? Oh, wait- perhaps the father? The nannies (for the wealthy) or the grandmothers (for the lucky) which is thankfully my case today. As silly as it sounds, it is those moments- the goofy ones with a stiff frozen washrag on your boob- that make you miss your partner (or dream about a night nurse or full-time nanny).
No comments:
Post a Comment