My kids, however, thought it was the best toy ever. A bunch of empty bottles with weird two-part caps! and tubes! and horns!, oh my!
I know what I'm doing with that thing when I'm done with it.
I realize that some women are expert pumpers (I bow to you, mamas), but I personally have the hardest time letting down with the breast pump no matter how much "it stimulates the sucking of a small newborn baby."
Sorry. That big plastic cone shaped thing does not a baby mouth make.
But I have something to attend this weekend that sort of requires that I leave the baby home for a couple of hours, so I figured I should probably pump some milk and let my husband try to give her a bottle.
That in itself is anxiety provoking enough since none of my kids have been the best bottle takers, or as I learned, just never good nervous daddy holding the bottle like someone just handed them a gigantic vibrating dildo takers.
Yes, it's as awkward as it sounds.
And worse, he can do absolutely NOTHING else but feed the baby. Or hold the baby. Or hold and feed the baby. Maybe.
Meanwhile, I think I may have just talked myself out of leaving the baby on Saturday.
And so, I dug open my new pump, the kids using the horns like kazoos all around me, and started pumping. Or really, what should be called "boob torture device that simulates squeezing water from a rock except not as pleasant."
I even tried nursing Bridget on one side so I could let down on the other.
No such luck. Though I did, for a moment, feel like I was nursing twins.
Five second solidarity, nursing twin mamas.
So as the milk dripped ever so slowly into the bottle, I noticed my son staring at it. And rightfully so - you don't actually see the milk when you're breastfeeding the baby and I imagine if you're used to milk coming out of a cardboard container in the fridge, well, it's pretty weird.
He looked at me. Then my boob. Then at me again,
"I can't believe boobs can do that!!!"
If only to be a fly on the wall at my son's school tomorrow.