Sit. Stay. Good mama.

I am listening to her scream her heart out as Rob tries to soothe her to sleep without a breastfeed. She's been waking three times in the night, in addition to her bedtime and first-thing-on-waking feeds, and eating smaller meals in the daytime. I'm exhausted. This is just since she was sick.

Oh, but it hurts!

I can hear her. Her throat is sore, I can tell, I can hear the rawness of it. She's angry and miserable. Rob is holding her, walking with her - his steps creak and thump above my head, bare boards in that room - and he has Medised, in case it's teething or a cold, and bottles of water for suck-comfort. It is not wrong of me to sit here nursing my now painful milk ducts and listen to her ask for what she had while sick and most nights since. But I can't explain to her that I can't sustain the demand.

Oh gods.