just wondering

if the unsightly red and OH MY GOD THE ITCHYNESS rash on my bikini line, my ankles, behind my knees and sporadic other outbreaks on my legs is actually better than the hair that was there before.

Issues with boobage

I realise much of my recent posts at Glam about mastitis and general boob malaise should have been posted here, but hey, there was a level of brain malfunction attached to having AGONISINGLY sore breasts, a temperature, a relentless program of ice packs/heat packs/ expressing/sterilising breast pump and engorgement we all only want to see at Warragamba Dam.

(June 18 2004. An aerial shot of Warragamba Dam showing low water levels.

Photo: Bob Pearce, SMH)

The thing is, the boob thing followed hot on the heels of the butt thing and really, that doesn't make for fun reading. Needless to say, apart from me, Ms I'm So Regular, suddenly not being and then when going - Oh DEAR GOD the pain - and basically wondering if when repairing the damage down there they got a bit ambitious with the stitching and went too far, even I have my limits as to what will be openly discussed on this, our vetting pen.

So just as I seem to resolve issues at that end (a diet of meusli and stewed prunes for brekkie, LOTS of water and only eating 5 seed bread if eating bread) the mammory glands checked out.

They had been sore for weeks - this has been engorgement not known (or at least remembered, which is an important point because I'm sure your brain just MAKES YOU FORGET) with the other boys - so they finally hit the wall or floodgates or whatever metaphor you can think of that works better.

Needless to say, Den Mother Janine's advice and program seems to have worked. I've stopped expressing, because apparently if I do it for more than 24 hours it does fuck with your supply so we'll see how the next couple of feeds go...

This sure makes for entertaining reading...

phew

well, as good as phew.

benign is such an almost comforting word, n'est pas?

mtc
a very relieved, almost,
bec

I have to write this somewhere ...

One of the scariest sentences you can utter in a doctor's office must be: I have a lump.

Scarier still when your mother died of breast cancer at 58, having developed it when she was probably only five or six years older than you are now.

Mammogram and ultrasound next Tuesday and everything will probably be fine. Certainly. Everything will be Fine.

But.

I keep thinking, why didn't I have my babies 20 years ago? When I'm 58 my littlies will only be 23. They'll barely have driving licences. I won't get grandchildren. Can I make them have teenage pregnancies or is that too - ick?

You see how random these thoughts get.

Here's what I do when I start imagining the demons of motherless children coming to get me. I look at the things I really can see and I say to myself, I don't believe in demons. And I say to myself, I only believe in what is real: I believe in ugly floral shower tiles, I believe in this beach towel, I believe in the radio, I believe in oranges, I believe in chipped nail polish, I believe in soap.

And the demons? What a pack of wimps. They go away.

Bec