I admit to occasionally being frustrated with the other parental unit in the house. I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but it is true. However, in the last couple of days I have been overwhelmed by what a fabulous husband and father I lucked into. I came home from a monthly girls' dinner on Wednesday and shortly after I laid down I started to feel a little under the weather. Then I noticed a huge painful lump in righty. Since I have been breastfeeding for almost eight months now (wow!), I have had many a lump, but few have been quite so big or painful. I massaged it for a while and I think I was reasonably successful in working out the blockage but the pain continued. As the night wore on I felt worse and worse and at one point I thought I might have food poisoning from my very eclectic dinner choices. Note to self: don't mix fried pickles, ceasar salad, rare ahi, and brussell sprouts (only a taste...and yuck). That might have explained the nausea but not the fever, aches and general malaise that had settled in. I spent the whole night tossing and turning, piling clothes on and then stripping them off, as I went from hot to cold and back again.
By morning I was in pretty bad shape, but I sent Neil off to work with a kiss anyway. By some sort of crazy miracle, Sophie let me sleep in until 8am. Sometimes I think that kid knows more than she lets on. I tried to tough it out, playing with her and trying to be business as usual, but after an hour or so it was clear that I was in as bad, if not worse shape than I had been the previous night. So when Neil sent me an email asking how I was and if I needed him to come home, I was so relieved. Mercifully, about this time Sophie was ready for a nap, so I fed her and put her down while I waited for Neil to get home. I decided a shower would make me feel better so I headed for the bathroom. As I stripped down, I happened to look in the mirror (something I normally avoid doing out of respect for my fragile ego) and noticed the fist-sized strawberry birthmark-looking discoloration right where the painful lump had been and realized that what I had been fearing since I began breastfeeding and had been hoping all night wasn't the case, in fact, was...dunh, dunh, dunh...mastitis.
So after a call to my gyno with a request for some antibiotics, I was off to bed. I spent most of the rest of the day curled up in bed while Neil watched the bean. Every three hours or so he would bring her to me for a feeding and a cuddle but other than that he manned the fort. Of course, I still made dinner, but he did offer to order pizza, so I can't be bitter about that.
Now here's the really horrible admission: I actually enjoyed my sick day. Don't get me wrong, I was totally miserable, but having a whole day where I didn't change a diaper or have to worry about entertaining the baby or my husband and all I had to do was lay in bed, sleep and watch the Wire in the Blood dvd from Netflix that's been sitting on the table for a week because I haven't had time to watch it, was actually kind of nice. Its a cool show, by the way, I just love BBC.
TGIF, I've had a couple of doses of the antibiotics. Most of the symptoms have disappeared, the pain is down to a dull roar and unbelievably, Sophie let me sleep in until 8 again. I feel like a new person. The moral of the story is, don't get mastitis because it really does suck, but if you do, it's almost worth it for the mini-vacation.