Today I took the Even Balder Kitten to get weighed. It’s been about five weeks since his weight was first plotted in his red book. He’s a big baby and measuring in the 95th percentile.
So after dropping the Bald Kitten at nursery (and staying for a quick feed) I’d done the weekly shop and headed to the clinic. Due to cuts, the clinic is only open for an hour twice a month. It was packed. One health visitor weighing and giving advice meant the queue was steadily increasing.
When we were one baby away from our turn the Even Balder Kitten decided to do a poo. Everyone heard it, he makes such a racket when he goes, it’s like comedy sound effects.
Having amused everyone with his loud poop symphony, I nipped to the loo to change him. There was poo EVERYWHERE. All out the back of his nappy, therefore all over the changing mat. And guess who couldn’t find the nappy bags?
That would be me.
Returning to the packed waiting room with the boy in just a nappy and the soiled nappy, (covered in poo) in my hand as the baby clinic does not dispose of nappies (!) I desperately scrabbled round the changing bag for the pack of nappy bags I KNOW I put in there, whilst trying to hold the boy AND shitty nappy. I EMPTIED the changing bag, no frigging nappy bags. I had to ask a stranger for one, feeling judged for not being prepared.
It was then I noticed, with the benefit of natural light, that my son’s back was yellow from all the poo. Well that was bloody embarrassing, I gave it another wipe hoping the earth would open and swallow me up. And to think one woman was embarrassed that her baby was the only one crying. Mine was covered in his own faeces.
I then nearly got lynched for going to thee front of the queue, but it was my turn and I had a car with chilled and frozen groceries getting warmer by the second. Luckily the women who’d been there for a while backed my claim.
I placed the Even Balder Kitten on the scales, and his weight was translated to pounds and ounces (kilograms mean NOTHING to me). 13lb 12oz. That’s weird, I’m sure he was 13lb something last time.
‘He’s dropped a percentile, is he feeding frequently?’
‘Err yes’ (he’s hardly off the sodding boob)
‘It’s nothing to worry about (although she didn’t sound convinced) he’s probably moving his arms and legs about a lot and lost weight, make sure you bring him back next month.’
I dressed him, put all the nappies and clothes (but no nappy bags) back into the changing bag and almost made it to the car before I started crying.
How can he not have gained more weight? All those hours he’s on the boob, every time I sit down with my dinner, he wants boob. 11 weeks without a decent night sleep, being late for pretty much EVERYTHING because I’m feed. Not playing with the Bald Kitten, because I’m feeding. Not indulging in a huge glass of wine because I’m feeding. And he’s dropped a percentile.
I’ve had a bra on 24/7 for ten weeks (not the same one!) I’ve woken soaked in my own breast milk because those sodding useless pads have moved in the night, my tits are now hanging significantly lower than they were four months ago AND FOR WHAT?!
I let myself go when we got home. I balled. The Even Balder Kitten started too so we both cried. I then latched him on to my apparently useless boob AGAIN.
I’m feeling slightly better about it now. I honestly don’t know why I got so upset. That’s a lie. It’s so personal, it’s so much hard work and I feel like I’m failing at it, like I’m failing my son. And I’ve not had a decent rest since he’s been born. I’m exhausted, and this was an icing on the cake moment.
In other news:
The Bald Kitten has been pooing on the toilet to much applause and celebration.
A short family holiday has been booked and we are beside ourselves with excitement. Mablethorpe here we come!
I’m having the besties round this weekend for a takeaway and girly night! I’m so excited but it means I have the insurmountable task of clearing the dining room table… I sense a floor picnic.