This Sunday took place in the shadow of a painfully blocked milk duct. The progression of events went about like this:
- Good morning! Wow, my tit is certainly very full of milk.
- Oh, damn.
- Hours of fruitless hot compresses, hot showers, glasses of water, ibuprofin, attempts at expressing with the dairy-cow machine, and lethargic moaning (lethargy and moaning both of course known to be highly fruitful at the best of times).
- A timid and tentative piercing of the bleb with a sterile needle.
- THANK CHRIST. Bless you, suckling infant, for the powerful hoover of your maw.
- Forty-five minutes of limp, yet enthusiastic, vocal relief.
Quite a satisfying dramatic arc, in the end, with all the ingredients—foreshadowing, rising action, climax, falling action, dénouement—just as they taught us in school.
And what a fine word "bleb" is, incidentally, isn't it? It's even better, as so many words are, if you take the time to read up on it in the OED. There you will find such splendid sentences as
fig.1651 [Henry] MORE Enthus. Triumph* (1656) 180 You blebs of venery, you bags of filth!
1880 J. E. BURTON Handbk. Midwives §38. 25 The ovum, or egg, is at first a little bladder, or bleb.
The second of these may seem fairly unremarkable on the face of it, but I think you'll find that it's very catchy. Try it aloud: The ovum! Or egg. Is at first a little bladder! Or bleb.
You'll also be happy to learn that "bleb" can also be a verb, meaning (and the exact phrasing of this is the good bit, obviously) "to furnish with blebs." Hence:
1821 CLARE Vill. Minstr. II. 84 While big drops..bleb the withering hay with pearly gems.
Do you think this was written to be romantic, poetic, evocative, tender, lovely? I believe it was. But I fear, John Clare, that this line has not stood the test of time.
*Full title: Enthusiasmus triumphatus, or a discourse of the nature, causes, kinds and cure of enthusiasme.