I hate, hate, HATE it when he screams in the car. I feel helpless, as all I can do is talk to him in a reassuring tone. I sometimes reach back and put a finger out for him to grasp on to, but I don't think he knows it's me when he can't see me!
Having to always be the one to feed him. It's a massive responsibility, and whilst it's lovely that I can provide him with all the nutrients he needs, it'd be nice to be able to pass him to Phil for a feed when he wakes at 2:30 in the morning. I know I could express some milk and have Phil feed him from a bottle, but that in itself is time consuming, and these days time really is of the essence.
Speaking of being woken at 2:30 in the morning, I do still struggle a little with the broken sleep. It takes me a little while to respond to his stirring, to his little legs kicking and his nose nuzzling into me. In those moments I think if I ignore him he'll fall asleep again... It takes me a minute or two to kick into gear and get a boob out!
My post-preggers body. The bleeding — every day for almost 7 weeks! And having to use pads! I haven't used pads since I was a teenager. The sagging — my boobs aren't too bad, but the stretched skin on my tummy is simple hideous. And the stretchmarks — ugly, ugly, ugly. Lan and Phil like to remind me that they are my war wounds, and that they signify a special time in my life, and my love for my bubba. This thought provides momentary respite, but then, I'll accidentally catch a glimpse in the mirror and feel horrified all over again.
Can't think of anything else! The nappies don't bother me in the least...
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