Sitting in bed, holding my tiny baby against my breast, I yawned. In the few weeks since Jack had been born in July 1997, he had demanded food around the clock.
‘You’re a hungry little chap,’ I smiled, placing him back into his cot.
But as I clicked off my bedside lamp, I worried.
Jack was always so pale.
No matter how much milk he guzzled, his weight kept going down.
He’d been 71b 13oz at birth, but had lost several ounces since then.
Doctors were concerned as well.
‘You need to bottle-feed him,’ I was told.
I’d breastfed my daughter, Louise, then 4, with no problems though, and mother’s instinct told me