My new born babe has lost the plot.
She won't latch on. My boobs are hot.
They've gone all hard, feel very sore.
It's sad, because there's milk galore.
I'm very tired. It's most depressing.
I have the kit. Have tried expressing.
From bottles, she will blithely drink,
But not from me. My spirits sink.
'Try skin to skin,' the midwife said.
'Don't sit. Try lying down instead.
You've done so well, at least so far...
And stuff a cabbage down your bra!'
This strange advice must be well meant,
So off to Tesco's hubby went.
I waited, trying not to panic.
He brought the veg. Savoy. Organic.
The very best, it seemed, he'd chosen.
Two leaves were chilled till almost frozen.
Round where my baby once had sucked,
The soothing greens were duly tucked.
I'm not serene. I'm not all smiles.
The iron tablets gave me piles.
I feel a mess. A mess I'm looking,
And now I smell of cabbage - cooking.