Thursday, 15 November 2012

Liquid Gold... the art of expressing milk

But she looks so happy? It must be fun!
I am now starting to feel a little bit like a cow. No, that's not just because of the way I am snapping at everyone due to my lack of a good night's sleep; it's because I am producing milk at a rate that even Asda would not have enough room in their refrigerator for. Albie, on the other hand, seems to think that my milk is not sufficient for him and would like some every two hours to fill his little stomach. Now if there's one thing I remember from my maternity classes, besides the knitted boobs and midwife's birth impressions (that sounded a little too much like an orgasm for my liking), is that a baby's stomach is the size of a ping pong ball. I don't know how many shops stock ping pong balls the size of Albie's stomach but if I found one I would probably track that midwife down and throw it at her head.

To compensate for these excessive feeding frenzies, I decided to purchase a contraption that might give me a break: a breast pump. Modern technology is a wonderful thing - we now have devices the size of a matchbox that will hold 1000s of songs, phones that recognise your voice and answer your questions. Technology is getting smaller and quieter... except, of course, the breast pump - whose developer is probably the same guy who is developing the NHS kidney shape bowls right (another story)?! I was surprised the neighbours didn't come round and check if I needed help evacuating the house due to the earthquake. No, actually, nothing to worry about - please come in for a cup of tea made with really fresh milk, all 10ml of the stuff. Yep, that's right, I've been sat expressing for twenty minutes and I get 10ml of 'liquid gold'. No wonder that's what it's referred to.

I carried on until I'd got a whole 60ml - it took me an hour. At least that might give me a break later, I thought. Wrong. Right on queue Albie started screaming and, as I rushed to his aid, I proceeded to knock the 'liquid gold' over, all over my bed sheets. I wept. I wept like I'd just lost actual liquid gold. I proceeded to take the soggy sheets downstairs to add to my excessive washing pile and returned to being mardy cow once more.

(based on diary entry: 12.02.11)

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