Small DB has not breastfed for a week. She had her two-year-old check up with the health nurse (the good one) the other day. She asked how I was and I confessed to staggeringly sore mega-boobs. She suggested I express as much as I could to alleviate the OW! factor and keep chomping down the sage. I didn’t cry, but I was wet-eyed. This shit is hard. She passed the tissues.

I went home and did as she suggested. Five ounces later, I offered the milk to Small DB, expecting her to pounce upon it like a small and ravenous lion. She was absolutely uninterested. In fact, she requested “the other mama-drink” – kefir. Sigh. There was no way I was going to waste the boobjuice…

Don’t be offended when I tell you that I threw it in a smoothie with some yoghurt, raw egg and honey. It was undetectable – but anyway, in case you don’t know, breastmilk is very sweet. I’m assuming that’s the last time I’ll ever pump, and the last time I’ll ever taste it. I feel a combination of disquiet and ambivalence.

The 5.30am starts continue. I am seriously considering covering all the windows in the bedroom with tinfoil to block out the light that inevitably leaks through the blackout curtains. I’m wondering whether the experiment would be worth the effort…