Funny Moms Over Spilled Breast Milk

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Crying Over Spilled (Breast)Milk

Hullo, Amy,

Looking for a little advice. I've been wracking my brain and can't think of a skilful analogy, and I just know you lot'll take something witty and spot on. Every 24-hour interval we transport four bottles to day care with my well-nigh six month former (just a couple of weeks older than Baby Ike). The fourth is a spare – a "only in case". It'southward the only fully breast milk bottle (two are mixed milk and formula, i is direct formula, b/c I can't keep up with him pumping).

Anyway, around 8:30 tonight I realized today'due south bottle four had never made it back into the fridge. Information technology wasn't even remotely cool anymore. It was yesterday'south milk, and after beingness cooled for 24+ hours, then sitting out for 3+, I figured information technology had to be dumped. Tears welled up into my eyes equally I poured out a half mean solar day'south worth of pumping. My husband did not get it at all. He doesn't see the big deal. Whatsoever suggestions on how to open his eyes to what information technology ways to cascade that much effort down the drain?

Thanks,
Crying Over Spilled Milk

Hey everybody, let's eeeease our style back into things after the long holiday weekend with a piffling brainteasing writing practise: What's a good metaphor for wasted breastmilk? I came up with ii.

Starting time, in the immortal words of Ellen Feiss:

For me, pumping has irritatingly been more virtually boosting/maintaining supply rather than the actual liquid output, which is historically paltry — simply there was a glorious menstruum afterward Ezra'due south birth where my boobs inexplicably responded to the pump every bit well as the baby and I was able to actually keep pregnant amounts of pumped milk on hand. Bags of information technology! It was glorious.

And then our power went out while we were out of boondocks and everything in the freezer went bad, including my precious breastmilk. I couldn't tell for sure when it defrosted, but judging from the rank meat, melted ice and warm temperature in the freezer it was mostly no longer okay to use.  My reaction was not nearly every bit chill as Ellen'south "bummer" up there, it was more than of a rage-y adult temper tantrum. All that work! Literally going downwards the drain because of a engineering science failure.

So: Wasting pumped breastmilk is like working really, really hard on a paper or proposal or *something* on your computer, only to get the Blueish Screen of Death during your final sentence, and so discovering that the auto-save feature didn't work and you have to start ALL OVER Again.

Second:

Despite my less-than-stellar product via pump with Noah, I damn well tried to send breastmilk in with him to daycare whenever possible, even if it was just a pocket-sized ii-ounce bottle they could give him before the Main Event of Formula. (Our daycare wouldn't let you mix the two, because they insisted on heating formula and breastmilk in separate Crock Pots lest OMG Boob COOTIES, or something.) Anyway, one week I stockpiled a couple days' worth of pumped milk and managed to make full a bag with almost six full ounces! Vi! That was huuuuuge for me and my crap supply, so I was quite pleased. I even carried the bag out to the living room to bear witness my married man (who was similar, "That's cool."). I then went dorsum in the kitchen to set up the daycare pocketbook. I opened the storage handbag and ready information technology down on the counter by the sink while I turned to become a bottle and…

I knocked it over with my elbow. All six ounces, gone in a flash while I stood there slackjawed.

So: Spilling breastmilk is like putting something important in your back pocket — cash, your phone, your keys, sold-out concert tickets — and reminding yourself that your dorsum pocket information technology probably not the all-time place for information technology only you know, it'southward just for a few minutes while you find your handbag or whatever. And then you forget about it and lo and behold, by the time you remember information technology your dorsum pocket is horribly, depressingly empty and the contents likely lost forever.

Too dramatic? Not dramatic enough? Hit me, intrepid commenters! And fifty-fifty if you don't have a metaphor to contribute but desire to talk most The Time You Spilled Your Breastmilk that'south fine too. I will concur your hair while you weep about it.

Photo credit: Thinkstock

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Source: https://alphamom.com/your-life/postpartum/crying-over-spilled-breastmilk/

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