As any of you who have ever had the pleasure of pumping breast-milk know, it is a process that requires tools. I mean more tools than a Home Depot. More tools than a Home Depot that just won a high-stakes-poker-game with a Lowe's.
There's the actual pump...then you need what I like to call the trumpets...and the bottles to attach to the trumpets...and tops for the bottles. Our trip to Alabama last week was going to be more than a 3-bottle trip (When you have a baby, hours start to lose their meaning. Time starts being gauged in terms of how many bottles or feedings your baby will require while you are away.) so we had to take the pump. While we were at Mama Hazel's and everyone was taking pictures, I excused myself to go to the restroom and pump some milk. Except that when I got to the bathroom and rifled through my bag I realized...no, it couldn't be...I am not that stupid. Oh yes. I am.
I forgot the trumpets.
No worries, I tell myself, breast-pumps have only been around about 60 years...so how did people do this before then? Well, they breast-fed. The only problem there is that, for the past week, whenever Evie so much as sees my boob she screams bloody murder (it does WONDERS for my self esteem).
So I channel my inner cave woman and I express. By. Hand.
If someone had told me ten years ago that on one humid, lowly day in August of 2009 I'd be hunched over a toilet in a nursing home bathroom, giving myself the purple-nurple of the century, I probably would have choked to death on my own laugh. Four ounces later and I have found success. My child will not starve today! And let me tell you, I haven't had a hand cramp like that since the verbal portion of the SAT.