How can I be lonely when she never leaves me alone?

The other day a grandmother at one of the morning play groups Eloise and I go to asked me if I find motherhood lonely. Now you know you're giving out super happy content-with-my-life vibes when a stranger who is currently spending her well earned retirement as an unpaid babysitter asks you if you could use a friend.

And sure, I guess I've been a little mopey lately because I'm unemployed and our savings are slowly seeping out of our bank account and I'm trying to stretch the household income as much as possible which means being frugal and not pampering myself as much (two things I am not good at) - but am I lonely? A 1 year old doesn't really give you time to be lonely, do they? I finish my day with Eloise and my feet hurt from running around with her and my cheeks hurt from smiling and my heart hurts from adoring.

And while I do sometimes need to make sure I get some adult conversation into my day I can think of quite a few people that are far less interesting to talk to than my 14-month old who knows all of 7 - wait - is meow a word, or a sound? - 6 words.

My left boob

I can always tell when a new exercise or diet regime is working because my left breast looses weight before any other part of my body. The right one will eventually catch up, – right boob is a little lazy. This of course isn’t the greatest incentive for trying to lose weight. Avoided cake and huffed and puffed till your face was red on the treadmill? How bout I shrink half of your best assets as a reward.

So combine a left boob that is always itching to get back to it’s C cup and a baby that has an unexplained preference for nursing from the right boob and we got ourselves a one-way ticket to lopside city.

I had been warned from other mothers about what the dreaded nursing boob preference could do, but I thought, really – how much damage can a little baby do. Yeah, I can see you shaking your head from here.

When she was younger she would scream and writhe when I offered her my left breast. When I had the patience I could wait through this period and get her to eventually accept it. But my patience was more often used up with changing her outfit for the third time that day after yet another butt explosion, or wiping up another dollop of baby spew from the bedroom floor. So I would cave in and just move her to the right breast and call it a day.

Now she has no preference, can swap between boobs without batting an eye, but the damage has been done.

I gave her my heart and she took my boobs. Not only do they no longer match, but they’re also a deflated shadow of their former selves.

So my advice to any childless women out there – go have fun, kinky (protected!) sex and in the morning strut around his place in nothing but his oversized t-shirt and a smile while your body is still in a state to make that look sexy. Take a moment to drink in your fabulousness – because once you have a kid your body is theirs.

These days I put on the Frenchman’s shirt and I just look like Meatloaf prancing around without his pants on.

Just cute enough to make my sad boobs worth it. But only just.

Did you know I have a baby? Cause I wasn't sure that was clear from this blog.

Somewhere along the way my newborn turned into an infant. A proper chunky little baby ready and willing to discover the world in front of her. It's amazing to think that at one point she couldn't hold up her own head. Now she's grabbing, she's standing (with my help of course) and she can manage a total of 2 seconds of sitting before wobbling over.

I never understood parents that could go on and on about their baby who had just learned to do basic things like eating from a spoon, rolling over, getting on all fours. I mean I've been doing those things for ages - some of them in heels and lingerie - and you don't hear me boasting. But when you go from being the prime witness to someone who started out life as essentially a wobbly headed blob that can't poo and breathe at the same time these milestones are incredible to see.

Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow

Breastfeeding for the most part has gone really well. The first two weeks of course were hell. I imagine those first weeks are only fun to women who live in latex and nipple clamps with a list of favorite safety words. There's a lot of crying in the early days, and it's not just the raging hormones, it's having a small snorting newbie chomp on your nipples like her life depended on it, because, oh that's right, her life depends on it. But then the pain slowly goes away, and you don't dread the feedings as much. And now at two months of this feeding another human with liquid from your body, I can say that the sensation is not all together unpleasant. It even tickles at times. And oh the sophomoric joy at seeing how far I can squirt milk out of my boob. I figure if Eloise is going to spit up so much of it, I can waste some too. So when the pamphlets and the midwives and the doctors and the magazines and the websites all tell you that breastfeeding should not be painful, they are right. But they don't tell you that it takes weeks to get there.

However holding on to an ever growing bundle of joy for hours on end while she feeds is not the most comfortable. And sure, we use strategically placed pillows to ease the back ache, but sometimes mama needs to read the newspaper and sometimes she wants to read it at the kitchen table and not the giant arm chair she now spends the large slice of the pie chart in. Either way by the end of the day my arms and back are feeling the breastfeeding pain.

So after a few earlier failed attempts I decided to give breastfeeding lying down another try - look Ma! No Hands!. And it works a treat. My DreamGenii pillow underneath my shoulders and Eloise's head, we snuggle up together and she feeds. Not only do we both get to have a rest in this position, it gives Eloise a bit more freedom. I help her latch on at first, but then she comes off when she wants to, takes a moment to contemplate the meaning life and/or burp and can latch right back on again when she feels like it with no help from me. These feeds have a more of a all-you-can-eat buffet feel with no restrictions on helpings. Of course letting her fall asleep like this then sneaking her into her crib may not be the best in long run and I'm sure we'll pay for it when I have a 4 year old who can only fall asleep by spooning her mother, but we'll deal with that issue when we get to it.

My only problem with breastfeeding is doing it in public. Now I'm not uncomfortable popping my boob out in public and feeding my daughter, but I am uncomfortable with other people being uncomfortable. You hear these horror stories of evil stares or restaurant managers kicking you out on the grounds that you can't bring in your own food (WTF!!!). So when Eloise and I are out and about I get such horrible nerves when she starts crying, worrying about whether I'll have to feed her and what people's reactions will be if I do. I don't like the idea of blankets or hooter hiders to cover us up though. A) It feels like I'm ashamed of giving my child a good meal, which I am not. B) I sure as hell wouldn't want to eat a meal with a blanket over my head unless it's that sacred bird and I'm at some underground banquet with French VIPs so I don't see why my kid would.

At home I spend most of the day half topless. The ever sexy look of one tit dangling out of a milk stained low-cut T-Shirt. Ahh, motherhood is so hot. And my fear is that one day I will answer the door in this half dressed state. Hello Mr. Postman. Oh that? That's just my daughter's mid-morning snack, why - did you want some? Seriously. Motherhood. So hot.

It's a shame though that while at home I am terribly at ease with it all, I live in fear of having to whip out boob in public. Any suggestions on how to get over this fear or what to say to anyone who gives me hassle for daring to feed a hungry child in front of them? Have any of you ever had bad experiences breastfeeding in public? I mean part of me doesn't see too much of a problem staying inside for the next 6 months or so watching reruns of The Hills, but I don't think I'd like Eloise's first words to be"I hate Spiedi".

Want to prevent your teenage daughter from having sex? Have her read this post.

I have now been discharged by the midwife. She said that Eloise and I were both doing so well, that she didn't need to check up on us anymore. This is fabulous news, because she has seen tons of babies and tons of new mothers, and so I value her opinion over most when she insinuates that she doesn't think I'm the type of person to accidentaly sit on my child while trying to get a better view of the Jeremy Kyle show or try and feed Eloise peanuts from across the room when she's demonstrating that adorable rooting reflex.

On her last visit, I mentioned that my stitches were hurting more rather than the lessening of pain I was expecting (something about Time and Wounds...). And so I found myself lying on my side, staring at the back of my futon with my underpants around my ankles and my big white ass in my midwife's face - you know, something to remember me by.

And then she said probably the most horrific thing I have ever heard while having my lower half exposed so freely.

"I see why it's more painful" she said, inches from my nether region "the stitches have disolved but what is left is like a giant paper cut."

A giant paper cut. IN MY VAGINA.

I bet that unprotected sex you were thinking about having isn't looking so hot right now is it?