Aaargh! I’ve been pummelled. Again.
And not by some nasty mugger, or kick-boxing ‘partner’.
No, the person who injured me was my two-year-old.
(Actually, she headbutted my nose when going in for a cuddle, which isn’t quite the same as being whacked – intentionally – by an adult. But OUCH, my face!)
The parenting books warn you about sleep deprivation, and how you have to develop the patience of a rock, to deal with all those tantrums, dawdling and irrational demands. What they don’t say is that, when you have children, you also have to put up with YEARS of incidental injuries, all sustained in the name of successful child-rearing.
It starts with breastfeeding. Your baby doesn’t latch on properly? You end up with a nipple that looks as though it’s been slowly nibbled around the edges by a team of starving rodents. But if the latch is all good and proper, with baby feeding nicely? Then – and here’s where I disagree with the experts – you’re so vigorously milked that your nipple ends up dangling, on a tender thread which looks (and feels) as though it could snap with the next suck.