Appropriate, isn't it, that the first post on "yet-another-mummy-blog-oh-GAWDS-help-us" is on teething troubles?
Having pandered (did I say shamelessly? Ok ok - shamelessly) to narrative convention, let me commence to begin (that is a phrase punishable by hanging according to my favourite author, Terry Pratchett) but I might as well be hung for a sheep as a fluffy baa-lamb.
So, one was labouring on womanfully with the midnight-to-dawn feeds to soothe the pain of sprouting what I shall regret calling 'teef', the rivers of drool, the colic and the occasional loosies and what have you that accompanies the advent of teef.
And one woke up and begged a cup of tea from the brand new help while the milk monster was still snuggled in la-la land. One staggered to the kitchen to try and get in another pumping session. And one saw the horrific sight of one's carefully hoarded stash of expressed breast milk (EBM) being poured generously into the chai ka patila.
(Alright, alright, too many ones - I'm losing count here) There was a screeching and wailing and gnashing of teeth and my poor MIL ran out to rescue me from what she was sure was certain death - 'Twasn't but 'twas a close run thing. I had a meeting that afternoon and had been saving it like a miser for when I would be away. AND she was on a growth spurt which meant the little milk monster was twice her usual size... Ah well... c'est la vie avec bebe.
Sometimes you have to laugh. Otherwise you cry.
P.S. I didn't even TASTE the damn thing. She took a look at my face and poured it away!