It's rubbish when your boobs wet themselves. Really rubbish.

Last night was utter pants. Great big skiddy, paisley, y fronts pants.

I can't complain too much. No sod it. Yes I can.

Gorgeous husband was on a night shift, Mo sneaked into bed with me and I was too knackered to argue and to be quite honest was quite enjoying him snuggling in. Obviously it's a tad annoying when he starts to sleep star shaped and starts rolling over and slapping me round the face. That's rubbish. But the cudding is rather nice.

The night started OK with Blossom waking for her last feed of the day at around 11.30pm, this then usually means that she goes till 3ish then again till 7ish. All perfectly acceptable times.

Not so last night.

Every time I fed her, changed her nappy, settled her down, then tried to put her down and BAM she was wide awake. Seriously I am sure I heard her whisper "no chance Mummy!"

So in the end I think I slept 1am till 3am, then 6am till 8am.

At one point tears came. Not hers. Mine. Tears that anyone who has been up half the night with a 4week old baby will understand. The repetitive sleep deprivation has started to kick in and a toddler during the day means fat chance of a daytime nap for me.

But the sweetest thing happened as I started to cry.

This warm little body snuggled in beside me, wrapped his arm around me and with one hand , gently patted my arm. All the while he gently shhhhhd me and said "It okay Mummy."

My sweet little man. Being Mummy's little helper. Taking his role very seriously obviously.

When I woke up to Mr arriving home from his night shift, the duvet was wet, as was my top. Cheers boobs. Way to make a bad night, worse.