These giveaways are for babyloss parents, a little something to help us through the festive period.
It's cold, and set to get colder. The light this morning was blue, the sky full of soft whipped cold blue clouds. The sun shone a little, and when that cold golden sunshine kisses my face between the buildings on my walk home, I whisper "hello darling", but I know it's not really her.
They say it might snow.
This little monkey is teething, having a growth spurt, and generally just rather grumpy. Of course I think if only he was breastfeeding he'd be so much happier, and that sets me off crying with him!
In between the grumps, I managed to run up a few pairs of woolly bootees this weekend.



All made with felted sweaters.
Ernest gives me, his Daddy, the other children, infact everyone really big big smiles, but as soon as I get the camera out, he stops, it took about three hundred million attempts just to catch this flicker of a smile!
I actually became re aquainted with my sewing machine yesterday! Oh I do miss her, but I guess cuddling Ernest is more fun.
I ran up three pairs of wool longies from some of Grandads old sweaters.
Of course a thirty minute job took more like three hours with pumping and feeding and cuddling breaks, but they are done. (and yes clearly I had no time to steam the creases out of the blue pair!)




Ernest saw the cranial osteopath for the last time today. His high palate has spread lots since our first appointment, and she thinks that now his tongue is free it'll spread more.
So, it's done,all physical barriers to breastfeeding removed, (as much as they can be).
There is a passage in Oliver James last book, "How Not To F*** Them Up", that says something like "If you've moved heaven and earth to breastfeed, and still not managed it, then there is no point despairing"...I can't write the exact quote because I've loaned the book to a friend.
I do despair. Breastfeeding to me is so very much more than getting milk into my baby. Breastfeeding is how I've mothered my children,it's a deep instinct.
Not breastfeeding hurts me, probably more than many people could ever understand.
I'm cut off from my main mothering tool.
But hey! Ernest is alive and here, and beautiful and growing fat on my milk. Losing Florence has taught me that things could be so much worse.
I'm not giving up, I can't. There's no time limit here, I'll keep on offering my breast, and maybe just maybe.
Right now though, the bottles are winning, and this Mama who wouldn't even have dolls bottles in the house, now owns more bottles and feeding paraphernalia than she ever thought possible.