So my perfect little Bubba’s digestive system is not so perfect. And neither am I.

Four weeks into our little bliss bubble, it burst. Not unexpectedly I suppose. Being a mumma 24/7 is tough. Don’t get me wrong, I love every minute with her and even the bumpy days are divine, but sleep deprivation is torture. Seriously.

Poor Bubba was struggling – her tummy upsets her one way or the other and we’ve tried everything. She sleeps with her mattress propped up at the top end, I burp her, I feed her smaller amounts more often, we do bicycle legs, I give her massages, we’ve tried chamomile in her feeds (trying to stay one feed ahead by expressing when I can), we’ve tried special drops made up by the naturopath, we’ve tried a couple of chemist bought homeopathic serums. To no avail. Signs of improvement? Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Some days (but mostly nights) she is just in pain. And it seems absolutely nothing I’ve done or tried or can do is helping. I am helpless. Someone said that once they reach 12 weeks it’s like being handed a new bubba. The cloud lifts, their digestive systems seem to work properly and everything feels better. Awesome – only 8 weeks to go.

The pain last night was obviously bad. So bad that she screamed (as in not just cried, but screamed at the top pitch with her full force) from 9pm right through until 1am. The night after my insomnia came back so I’d had about 4 hours sleep in 2 days.

It’s little wonder I lost my tiny mind at 1am. I yelled at the top of my lungs at her to ‘shut the [beep] up, there’s nothing I can do for you’. Not quite as funny as the book with a similar name. Not at 1am. Not when as soon as the words are out of your mouth you collapse in a heap and sob for a good hour. Not when the dogs let you know in no uncertain terms that you’ve over stepped the mark. One of them got in between me and Bubba, the other went and sat near the door.

A time out was needed. For me. I checked Bubba again. She was dry, she was safe, she didn’t want feeding, her bed was cosy but not too warm. So I took my blubbering self out to the lounge, curled up on the sofa and sobbed.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but I felt like someone was going to knock on the door first thing in the morning and revoke my mother card for being awful. Oh the guilt. The sometimes confronting truth about being a mumma. In the middle of the night. When everything seems so much worse than it does during the day.

Probably lucky that 4 week old bubbas aren’t likely to remember. Not like I will. Tomorrow will be a better day. Bliss will return. And she’ll be 12 weeks before I know it.