“What are you doing?” asked the boyf at 10.30pm last Friday night. “Cleaning the bathroom….” I hollered back. No I haven’t got a sudden penchant for housework but scrubbing the entire bathroom seemed to be the only way I could tune out my daughters screams whilst he tried to soothe her. I had been tempted to go downstairs and watch my recording of Ugly Betty but much like sex, it’s difficult to lose yourself in the moment if you have someone screeching the place down in the background. Babies…they can kill your libido stone dead AND your ability to watch TV comfortably…

As it goes, we recognise that we’re fortunate to have had our “Worst Night Ever” ™ with her almost five months after she has arrived but why does my daughter have to have a cold, be a diva, and in the meantime I’ve suffered hideous engorgement and a diminished milk supply and all in the matter of three days?

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