Sooo, Huck has not once–not even once!–taken a bottle.
We tried one night out of sheer curiosity and look, it was a disaster. We had the top screwed on wrong and boob juice was leaking out the sides and Huck staged a big old revolt and my husband and I looked at each other like, YIKES! Bottles!
But, even still, every now and then I pump. I’m not sure why. I think, for fun?
(More after the jump.)
I’ve been lucky to have been blessed with a decent milk supply. After some oversupply/fire hydrant issues in the beginning we settled in really well and had a good thing going. I didn’t need to pump to get my supply up, I never developed mastitis or clogged ducts requiring a pump session or two to get things cleared out, and I didn’t go back to work and need to pump so my baby could take a bottle. I was very, very lucky.
But even still, I sort of wanted to pump! I wanted to see how it worked, I wanted to know how many ounces I was making in a single let down, I wanted to know what color it was.
(Sort of also I wanted to taste it? It’s super sugary. We’ll not discuss further.)
So I bought a cheapie hand-pump pumper from Medela and gave it a go. Froze a couple ounces. Thought it was funny. Put it away in case I needed it later. A few months later, after I was sure I’d never have need of any frozen breast milk, I went ahead and pumped some more. WHY? I DON’T KNOW!
Right now there are six frozen baggies of breast milk in my freezer and I haven’t the vaguest sense of why I am keeping them. Possibly they have expired (do they expire?). Possibly these are some Howard Hughes type tendencies I am harboring. Possibly Huck will one day need it and I’ll be like, mental high five, self! Who knows.
Tell me I’m not the only one here?