Tag Archives: sharyn hayden

The Raising Ireland Interviews Are Back!

I love an oul chat, which is why I developed ‘Chitter Chatter’, the video interviews with Amazing Parents for Raising Ireland. There has (naturally) been a bit of a hiatus while I was having that adorable little baby Eva and all, but I’m slowly getting around to getting them edited and uploaded (you can see I was heavily preggo when we did these last few recordings!)

First up is Siobhán Boyce, who tells us all about losing her mum almost seven years ago, and how she guarded her daughter’s feelings at the time. Siobhan is also a nurse, who has put herself through college and calls Clodagh (now 11) her driving force..

Street Harassment in Dublin

I totally get that video of the woman walking through NYC, being verbally mauled by a pack of weirdos who have nothing better to do with their time. That guy who just walked beside her for ages? Creepy. As. Fuck. The whole time, I was willing her to break the silent bit and just let her arm extend swiftly & sharply to the left and knock the fucker out.

Not that it’s as bad here as in the States but you know, some days you’re just not in the humour for unwanted attention. I recently phoned Apple Support for a problem I was having with my iPhoto application on my laptop. I got through to India and the first thing the guy does is deliberately open up Photo Booth so that he can see what I look like.

‘Oh berry bootifool’ says he, in that ‘whispery’ voice that creeps use. Is that supposed to be sexy? (vomits)

I had just had Eva a couple of months, I hadn’t yet washed that morning, I was harassed because I had to pick Jacob up and just wanted my laptop fixed and this cheeky fucker was the last thing I needed. I wasn’t in the mood and I cut him off.

Then there are other days…. when you’ve just had your baby a couple of months, you haven’t washed yet that morning, you are harassed because you have to pick your toddler up and you just want your laptop fixed….ahem… and you’d nearly love someone to say ‘Hey beautiful! You’re doing great. Your ass looks great. Just brush your teeth before you pick the kid up and you’ll be fine’. Of course, if that someone was Hugh Jackman, then all the better.

Anyway, we have to take the serious things very seriously, and we have to take the not so serious things not too seriously. If some happy fucker in, say, a fire truck wants to flash his lights at me and honk as I am walking down the street, I am giving that happy fucker a wink back AT LEAST. Maybe even a little wave. (Sidenote: if some criminal-looking dude starts walking beside me for an indefinite period, I am locating the nearest hurling stick).

Creative Nation and I made a parody of the original video this week in Dublin. It’s just me, and my military coat, and my Ian Browne-like walk (why didn’t anyone ever tell me I walk like a man WTF?!) and all the fabulous street vendors in Dublin City.

We shot it over a few hours and I didn’t get hit on ONCE. Scarleh.

Enjoy x 10 Hours Of Walking In Dublin As A Woman

Nuts For Hallowe’en

We went on holidays a few weeks ago. Am I still banging on about that, about it being the first holiday we had in three years, how we blew WAY too much money on it but we were desperate? Yes I am! (review for Kelly’s Hotel, Wexford, to follow!)

Anyway, on our last day, we met a lovely couple and their son who was just a little bit younger than Jacob by a few months. The boys got on great so naturally we got chatting to the parents while supervising them on the super-cool Viking ship playground in the back garden.

The mum told us a VERY harrowing story about recently discovering that their son is allergic to nuts – and they found out the hard way. He ate a tiny bit of granola that had traces – TRACES – of nuts in it, and immediately suffered a major allergic reaction.

The ambulance couldn’t get to Crumlin Childrens Hospital quickly enough from Clonskeagh on the busy motorway as this little man swelled up, broke out in massive hives all over his body and his windpipe closed in. They diverted to St. Vincent’s hospital to get some steroids to tide him over until they got to Crumlin, and the entire time, his mum kept thinking ‘My baby’s going to die. My baby’s going to die’.

Naturally enough, I was BAWLING listening to her story, and couldn’t NOT give her a big hug for going through it. We also discussed my pal whose daughter is allergic to eggs and that poor girl from Drimnagh who died on O’Connell street last year after being denied an EpiPen by the chemist. I still can’t fucking believe that happened, by the way.

This mum and her husband at least had a happy outcome – their son was alive and well and having a great time on holidays with his parents and new pal (for a day!), Jacob.

As today is Hallowe’en, I am reminded of this family as my son is about to call to neighborhood houses in his dinosaur costume and other kids will call to our house, all looking for Hallowe’en loot and goodies in their precious bags. And we have NO IDEA sometimes who these kids are, or if they could be allergic to anything.

So I’ll do a deal with you – you don’t give my kid monkey nuts today and I won’t give any to yours. Just in case. Cool?

‘Mammy, do you have a willy??’

So… THIS line of questioning began this morning while I was in the shower. Jacob, 3 years of age and proud owner of a willy of his very own, joined me in the bathroom while I was washing myself. As usual. (Is it just my partner or does every dad get to shower alone, while I get plagued by my little visitor each time I attempt to close the bathroom door behind me?!)

We discussed the ‘cool bubbles’ in the shower tray as we always do, and he monitored them slipping down the drain. And then we went through our ‘Morning Questions’ ritual:

Me: ‘Did you have a nice sleep?’

Jacob: ‘Yes’ (did he fuck – he hasn’t slept properly for weeks)

Me: ‘Did you have nice dreams?’

Jacob: ‘Yes’

Me: ‘What did you dream about?’

Jacob: ‘I dreamt about the owls and the fire engines and the bubbles and the green tractor’.

Me: ‘Do you feel happy?’

Jacob: ‘Yes’

And we grin like weirdos, trying to ‘out smile’ each other if we can. But then he cocked his little head to the side, as a new question formed – one that hasn’t been (and I hope isn’t about to be!) added to the daily list:

‘Mammy – do you have a willy?’

SO. FRICKIN. FUNNY. I had just been on the telly last night contributing to a piece on nudity in Ireland and one of my main points when interviewed (which wasn’t used in the program), was that I LOVE how kids have no hang ups about their bodies when they are kids, because the stupid media and the stupid society and the stupid other mean kids and the stupid pass-remarkable grannies etc haven’t gotten to them yet.

So I smiled, and just said ‘No I don’t, just boys have willies Jacob’. I WAS going to say ‘Mammy has a …. ‘ – what word would I use?! What’s the equivalent to ‘willy’? Daisy? Fandora? Front bum?! HELP! But I decided that I didn’t have to go there, coz this morning, we were just talking about willies. And he seemed happy enough with that, nodded his head sagely for a moment before adding:

‘Poppy doesn’t have a willy’.

Poppy is a girl in his pre-school class. Another 3 year old. Jaysus. I took a little breath and decided against asking him how he knew that Poppy doesn’t have a willy, but to be honest, I’m sure that it doesn’t really matter when you’re talking to a three year old. So instead, I said;

‘That’s right. Poppy doesn’t have a willy. Just boys have willies’.

‘Yes they do, Mammy’ he agreed. And promptly pulled his pants down right there to present his amazing willy to me. The proof was in the pull-ups. Proud boy ;o)

Postpartum Depression (Via Lucie’s List)

If you have yet to sign up to Lucie’s List, then please do. Sound, practical advice on pregnancy and beyond, with a few ‘Fuck yeahs!’ thrown in. Just up our alley, right?

This is an AMAZING piece on postpartum depression that Lucie’s List has kindly given me permission to share. I think every single pregnant woman and new mother should read it, PARTICULARLY in this country as Ireland is still so flippin’ backwards on these matters!

Take it from me right now, if you recognize yourself in the descriptions of different types of PPD below, then please be assured that it is EXTREMELY normal and that you have the super-woman strength to find the help you need to get through. We’re rooting for you xxx

Postpartum Depression

1 in 8 of you will suffer from postpartum depression, anxiety, or OCD. It can be nasty stuff and should not go untreated.

You’ve probably experienced the “baby blues”, which is the crazy moodiness and weepiness that occurs in the first week after you give birth. It’s normal. Everyone goes through it.

Perinatal mood disorders are different. They may feel like baby blues at first — but the signs and symptoms are more intense and longer lasting.

The Stats, Please

– 13% of postpartum women develop PPD (1 in 8!)
– 10% OF DADS (yes, that’s right, men!) develop symptoms of PPD
– 1-3 in 1,000 women develop postpartum psychosis. (I have 70,000 subscribers, which means – statistically – that several dozen of you will experience this and it is SERIOUS business!)
** A woman experiencing postpartum psychosis may be in danger of taking her own life or that of her child. Symptoms include paranoia, hallucinations (hearing voices urging a new mother to kill herself or her child), severe insomnia, total loss of appetite, and major anxiety and depression. This condition is considered a psychiatric emergency and demands an aggressive, immediate response. Please click here to get local help where you live. Help is waiting for you. Please don’t delay!

So I need to ask (new mothers): how are you doing?

Some of you are feeling Super Duper! Jolly Good. Elated. Tired, yes, but happy. Some of you may be struggling and still others may be somewhere in the middle.

Maybe you’ve experienced depressive episodes in the past (ahem) and maybe you haven’t, so let’s talk specifics. *** MIND YOU: this isn’t a one-size-fits-all thing. Some women experience some symptoms and not others.

[During my research, I stumbled across an excellent site for PPD support called Postpartum Progress. The following is re-printed directly from this article. (thanks Katherine!!)]

*You may have postpartum depression if you have had a baby within the last 12 months and are experiencing some of these symptoms:

You feel overwhelmed. Not like “hey, this new mom thing is hard.” More like “I can’t do this and I’m never going to be able to do this.” You feel like you just can’t handle being a mother. In fact, you may be wondering whether you should have become a mother in the first place.
You feel guilty because you believe you should be handling new motherhood better than this. You feel like your baby deserves better. You worry whether your baby can tell that you feel so bad, or that you are crying so much, or that you don’t feel the happiness or connection that you thought you would. You may wonder whether your baby would be better off without you.
You don’t feel bonded to your baby. You’re not having that mythical mommy bliss that you see on TV or read about in magazines.
You can’t understand why this is happening. You are very confused and scared.
You feel irritated or angry. You have no patience. Everything annoys you. You feel resentment toward your baby, or your partner, or your friends who don’t have babies. You feel out-of-control rage.
You feel nothing. Emptiness and numbness. You are just going through the motions.
You feel sadness to the depths of your soul. You can’t stop crying, even when there’s no real reason to be crying.
You feel hopeless, like this situation will never ever get better. You feel weak and defective. You feel like a failure.
You can’t bring yourself to eat, or perhaps the only thing that makes you feel better is eating.
You can’t sleep when the baby sleeps, nor can you sleep at any other time. Or maybe you can fall asleep, but you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep no matter how tired you are. Or maybe all you can do is sleep and you can’t seem to stay awake to get the most basic things done. Whichever it is, your sleeping is completely screwed up and it’s not just because you have a newborn.
You can’t concentrate. You can’t focus. You can’t think of the words you want to say. You can’t remember what you were supposed to do. You can’t make a decision. You feel like you’re in a fog.
You feel disconnected. You feel strangely apart from everyone for some reason, like there’s an invisible wall between you and the rest of the world.
Maybe you’re doing everything right. You are exercising. You are taking your vitamins. You have a healthy spirituality. You do yoga. You’re thinking “Why can’t I just get over this?” You feel like you should be able to snap out of it, but you can’t.
You might be having thoughts of running away and leaving your family behind. Or you’ve thought of driving off the road, or taking too many pills, or finding some other way to end this misery.
You know something is wrong. You may not know you have a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, but you know the way you are feeling is NOT right. You think you’ve “gone crazy”.
You are afraid that this is your new reality and that you’ve lost the “old you” forever.
You are afraid that if you reach out for help people will judge you. Or that your baby will be taken away.
*You may have postpartum anxiety or postpartum OCD if you have had a baby within the last 12 months and are experiencing some of these symptoms:

Your thoughts are racing. You can’t quiet your mind. You can’t settle down. You can’t relax.
You feel like you have to be doing something at all times. Cleaning bottles. Cleaning baby clothes. Cleaning the house. Doing work. Entertaining the baby. Checking on the baby.
You are worried. Really worried. All. The. Time. Am I doing this right? Will my husband come home from his trip? Will the baby wake up? Is the baby eating enough? Is there something wrong with the baby that I’m missing? No matter what anyone says to reassure you it doesn’t help.
You may be having disturbing thoughts. Thoughts that you’ve never had before. Scary thoughts that make you wonder whether you aren’t the person you thought you were. They fly into your head unwanted and you know they aren’t right, that this isn’t the real you, but they terrify you and they won’t go away. These thoughts may start with the words “What if …”
You are afraid to be alone with your baby because of the thoughts. You are also afraid of things in your house that could potentially cause harm, like kitchen knives or stairs, and you avoid them like the plague.
You have to check things constantly. Did I lock the door? Did I lock the car? Did I turn off the oven? Is the baby breathing?
You may be having physical symptoms like stomach cramps or headaches, shakiness or nausea. You might even have panic attacks.
You feel like a captive animal, pacing back and forth in a cage. Restless. On edge.
You can’t eat. You have no appetite.
You can’t sleep. You are so, so tired, but you can’t sleep.
You feel a sense of dread all the time, like something terrible is going to happen.
You know something is wrong. You may not know you have a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, but you know the way you are feeling is NOT right. You think you’ve “gone crazy”.
You are afraid that this is your new reality and that you’ve lost the “old you” forever.
You are afraid that if you reach out for help people will judge you. Or that your baby will be taken away.
Now that you’ve gone through these lists are you thinking “How the heck does this lady know me? Is there a hidden camera in here?” Nope. What this should tell you is that you are NOT alone and you are NOT a freak and you are NOT highly unusual. If you are having these feelings and symptoms then it is possible you are experiencing common illnesses that 15 to 20% of new mothers have, and they are completely treatable. Just reach out for help (by state and country).

If you are having the symptoms listed above, call your doctor. There is no need to suffer. Perinatal mood and anxiety disorders are temporary and treatable with professional help.”

Remember: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. You are not crazy, nuts, or psycho.

Also…. yes, breast is best (and all that), but it’s waaaay more important that mommy is playing with a full deck of cards. If you need to stop b’fing in order to take the meds that you need to get better, it’s NOT a big deal. Our entire generation was raised on formula, and we’re FINE. (Read also: Letting Go of the Guilt from not Breastfeeding).

Dedicated To The Vagina I Love…

That’s the closing line of my acceptance speech at the glitzy awards ceremony when the Raising Ireland blog wins an Irish Blog Award this year. Good, innit?!

Except, I still kinda need you to help me get there. Please click on ‘Raising Ireland’ from the list HERE and if the blog post gets into the Top Ten, I promise I’ll get pregnant again straight away*

Cheers mates xxx

*There is no effing WAY I’m ever getting pregnant again. Are you for real?! ;o)

Breastfeeding Is Back

There is a marked difference in attitude, between when I had Jacob in 2011 and having now had Eva in 2014, so far as breastfeeding is concerned.

In 2011, I was uninspired, underwhelmed and slightly badgered by midwives and public health nurses about breastfeeding. It was just something I ‘should’ have been doing, and if I didn’t master it, I was a bit of a disappointment. Aside from that, I didn’t really feel like I had anyone around me who I could talk to about the whole process of breastfeeding, who was like me and who would offer practical advice.

As a consequence, I put my head in the sand about it and after about two and a half weeks of miserable breastfeeding attempts with Jacob, I fucked the breast pump across the room (narrowly missing Ass Monkey’s pretty head), smashed it against the kitchen sink, and that was the last my boobs and I spoke of it.

But in 2014, things have changed. I mean, there was still this conversation with an ole bitch at the maternity hospital when I was registering my pregnancy:

Ole Bitch: And do you plan on breastfeeding your baby?

Me: I do.

Ole Bitch: Did you breastfeed your first child?

Me: I did.

Ole Bitch: For how long?

Me: For approximately two and a half weeks.

Ole Bitch: (disappointed stare) What happened exactly?

Me: (already texting Ass Monkey to get into the room before I punched the head off her) EH I STOPPED BREASTFEEDING???

Regardless of Ole Bitch’s attempts to put me off forever – just to spite her – I’m happily combination feeding Eva boob and bottle, five weeks in. I still have absolutely no idea how I’ll breastfeed in public without having to take all my clothes off like I do at home, but for the moment, that’s fine with me because I’m not planning on going anywhere.

The difference is that I have much more positive and practical support this time. I now know about nipple guards and the best creams to use to ensure that I’m not in pain (because seriously, why would you put yourself through that? The sleep deprivation and the emotional roller coaster with a new baby is enough to contend with), and I also know SHIT LOADS OF AMAZING WOMEN WHO BREASTFEED.

Isn’t that the trick? That there are people we can all relate to who are showing us the way? (Who can forget ‘role model’ Jordan saying that she didn’t breastfeed her kids because ‘Boobs Are For Sex’? NICE ONE, ASSHOLE). That’s why I think this ‘Breastfeeding Buddy System’ from Friends of Breastfeeding is great. It is currently in the experimental stages but they will pair you up with someone who will support you through the whole process of breastfeeding, from getting comfortable doing it at home, to getting outdoors and breastfeeding in public for the first time.

If you’re interested in reading about it, or finding out how to sign up, click the link HERE

***It’s really important to stress that breastfeeding is not for everyone, and that’s ok. For many women, it isn’t ‘the most natural thing in the world’ that lots of people say it is. Whatever works for you is all that matters, make your own choices for you and your family and remember you are an Amazing Parent ;o)

Sharyn x

The Best Moany Preggo Video…EVER!!

As you are all well aware of how much I pissed and moaned during my pregnancy (thanks millions for putting up with me), we thought it might be fun to catalogue some of our most ridiculous comments and outbursts when we’re up the duff… and to record it forevvvvvaaahhhh.

So we want to make a cool video called ‘Sh*t Pregnant Women Say’ – featuring YOU!

If you have some funny phrases, one-liners or gripes that you have said while pregnant, simply put yourself on camera and send it on. Then you could star on our hilarious compilation of pregnancy moaners!

Here’s a few ideas to get you started:

1. I’d love some pate….or a smoke.

2. I haven’t had sex in 8 months.

3. Sorry I’m late, I’ve been throwing up all…month.

*Send your video file via wetransfer.com to info@raisingireland.com by August 30th. We can’t wait to see how pissy and moany you all are!!

My Birth Story: The (Supermarket) Sweep

When your pregnancy runs overdue, a few things go by the wayside. That mani/pedi you paid for and thought would get you through to the labour and beyond chips away. The ‘last clean’ of the house before you’re gone into hospital for a few days becomes a distant memory as everything gets grubby again. The grandparents that have been on high alert for a month to help with your toddler start getting bored and threaten to start booking holidays. All of the precision planning and bouncing around on that fucking fit ball all becomes a bit… pointless.

So at 8 days overdue, I decided to take matters into my own…em…vagina. I was already scheduled in for an appointment with my consultant that I thought I would never be attending in a million years. But as that date drew closer, there I was, still preggo and still waddling up to the maternity hospital to see him yet again. My consultant was one of those older male doctors, somebody’s da, possibly somebody’s granda, so I planned to ask him for a Sweep to get things moving along, and I had no problem with that.

A Sweep, in case you are wondering, requires your participating ‘sweeper’ to stick a couple of fingers up your hoo ha, to give the neck of the cervix a good ole stretch so that it might help the process of labour along. My maternity hospital didn’t exactly offer that as an option, so you have to request it. So yes, essentially…you’re begging someone to finger you.

When I arrived at the hospital, armed with this plan, I discovered to my horror that my old fogey consultant was on holidays, and was replaced by a 30-something handsome doc from Limerick. OF COURSE HE WAS. I was fucking mortified and nearly didn’t ask him for the Sweep for fear of actually enjoying it. (In the end, it’s actually more like getting fingered for the first time by some 17 year old who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Say, behind a tree in the woods… but perhaps I’ve said too much).

Anyway, my awkward first date had a positive outcome. I started feeling a few pains as early as going home in the car that afternoon. At 1am I woke up with one big intense pain, and we called granny around to stay over with Jacob so that we could go to the hospital. One of the cautions the doctor had given me with the Sweep was to watch out for bleeding that was continuing 12-15 hours after the fact, and I was. I also hadn’t felt the baby move for a little while so called the hospital who advised we come straight in. Needless to say, I was crying and worried that I shouldn’t have had the Sweep at all, and that something was wrong.

But as Ass Monkey sped onto the north quays after the O2, and I remarked how beautiful & calm the city is at night, I felt the baby move for the first time since I’d woken up at 1am. There were a few more tears of relief then that everything was going to be ok. (On enquiry at the hospital, I am told that the ‘show’ I had been waiting for can sometimes separate, so you can pass either blood or mucus separately, and not just together. Great to know after the fact… ahem)

Got to the hospital for around 2.30am and was admitted straight away. We were brought to a labour room and met Sheeba, the coolest Indian woman and midwife in the world. Ass Monkey gently let her know that his life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t get the epidural, so she booked it in straight away (he’s clearly too handsome to lose so young ;o) ). We were all in good spirits and had a little stroll up and down the corridors to keep things moving before The Drug Man would be allowed to see me (I was only just beginning to dilate – and you can’t get the epidural until you’re at least 1cm dilated) . The dude in question actually passed us by on the corridors as I was strolling around, and Sheeba pointed him out.

‘Where is he going?!’ I asked, alarmed. ‘Don’t let him leave the hospital!’

Sheeba laughed. ‘The deal is – if you can catch him, you can have the epidural’.

Brilliant. Can you imagine twenty or so heavily pregnant women in a race around a maternity hospital to score their painkillers? I SO CAN.

Once I was properly dilated, things started to move pretty quickly. I’m not entirely sure of the time frame but we could be talking 4am-4.30. My contractions were now coming every 2-3 mins and were getting really intense. As I am a complete wuss when it comes to pain, I started having a meltdown. I wanted Ass Monkey to hold my hand, then I wanted him to leave me alone, then I started crying, then I started wailing ‘Help me… Please help me….’ (Yes, seriously).

The Drugs DO Work

The Drug Man arrived – thank fuck – and Ass Monkey literally had to hold me steady while I sat on the side of the bed and endured the contractions. I don’t know how he did it because I was totally freaking out. And obviously, you really don’t want to move an inch when someone is trying to get a needle into your back. It’s SO worth it though. My contraction pains got less and less difficult to deal with over the next half an hour until I stopped feeling them at all.

And then I had a snooze. Yes, seriously ;o)

We all kept chatting and Sheeba monitored me over the next couple of hours until the baby was ready to make an appearance. This waiting time can be a little bit frustrating as you feel like you’re ready and you’re so dying to meet the little person. I kept asking ‘When are we doing this? Now? Half an hour? When?’ And Sheeba just smiled & told me she’d examine me in another while….

7am was Go Time. Ass Monkey was instructed to grab one leg, Sheeba had the other and she gave me my instructions.

‘One big deep breath, then push, push, push, down into your bum. You ready?’

I was. I was so ready.

‘Ok Sharyn – take a deep breath (I did), and…’

The door to our room opened and a voice called out over the screen between it and my bed.

‘Sheeba do you have a spare set of keys?!’

Our Sheeba looked amused. ‘Em no I don’t!’ she replied.

‘I don’t either!’, I chipped in.

‘Yeah, me either’, Ass Monkey threw in his two cents. ‘We’re a little busy here!’

The three of us went into meltdown and couldn’t stop laughing. The timing couldn’t have been any better because we relaxed entirely.

‘Ok, no laughing’ Sheeba tried to get us all back in the game. (It took another minute or two). ‘Take a deep breath, and…push’

The little baby’s head was visible (to them anyway) after two pushes, completely out at 3 (‘I can see black hair! – Ass Monkey. ‘I keep calling her a she, I don’t know why’ – Sheeba), and the body was out on 4 pushes plus a few of those little short breaths they tell you about in antenatal class.

Each of us looked down immediately to see what little present we had been given – a girl! A GIRL!! Wait, a girl? How do we have a girl? We only picked out a boy name and Jacob thinks he’s getting a little brother and – OH MY GOD WE HAVE A GIRL!!!

When I say we cried, we really cried. I’m still crying a little bit every day. The joy, the euphoria. A gorgeous little baby girl xxx

A Star Is Born

**Would you like to share your birth story with us? Send it to info@raisingireland.com**

My Left Boob

Ass Monkey has bought and made me some fabulous gifts in our time together. There was that time when we were first dating, after I had entrusted him with a spare key to my fab apartment (where I used to live alone and loved it. Can I go back please?!) – he let himself in a few times unbeknownst to me to measure up for, and then to craft and fit in, a bespoke writing table. It was at that point that I figured he maybe liked me a little bit…

Our first Xmas together; an iPhone – I cried. Our first Ikea trip when we had eventually moved in together, he insisted on buying those dressing room lights to fit over the mirror, just perfect for a rock star, he said. I cried again. In fact, I cried whenever Ass Monkey ever did anything nice for me – I must have been starved of love and attention before he came along ;o)

But I have never, ever been so enamored with him and his present buying than over the weekend, when he came home from Boots armed with a pair of nipple guards. I cried again, although this time with relief.

Since she was born, Eva has been happily feeding off my left boob and ignoring the right completely. In fact, she takes a couple of little sucks off the right and then bawls her head off as if I had just offered her some of my own cooking. Therefore, I had been pumping off my right, and feeding off my left, resulting in my left being very sore, and my right being very offended.

On consultation with my sage friend, Mrs. Doireann Langford, she too had experienced this same trouble – what she calls ‘The Shit Tit’ – and instructed us to the purchase of said nipple guards immediately.

And it worked! Eva is now happily feeding off both sides, despite the fact that her mother resembles an extra from a Lady GaGa video. Ass Monkey has never been so attracted to me…

Boots’ Own Brand Nipple Shields