This morning I woke up and my right breast was painfully engorged.
Of course when I say “woke up,” it implies that I slept — and last night I did more of a doze-off for a few moments every couple of hours while sitting upright on the couch with a Boppy around my waist and a four-week-old in my arms.
But this isn’t about my sleep. It’s about my boobs. Or the pain in my boobs. Definitely boobs.
Where was I?
Engorged. Hard as a rock. Painful.
But not as painful as my nipples the first few weeks of breastfeeding. Those early days are brutal. My toes would curl in anticipation of the initial shock of pain when Huggy Baby would latch on my right side.
Your poor, unsuspecting nipples are suddenly the life of the party — which means raw sore nips while they toughen up and get used to all that attention.
It feels like they never will, but they do.
Then one morning you wake up engorged.
With sore boobs.
And you smile because that pain means your sweet baby slept a few minutes longer last night.