Wednesday, March 04, 2009
I'd been a mom about a week when I learned that having a super-sterile breast pump is not worth burning your house down.
I was downstairs, folding laundry around the baby asleep in the sling by Dr. Sears (enthusiastically endorsed by Dr. Searls), hoping CNN might catch me up on what had happened while I'd been in the hospital. Suddenly, "Arr, Arr, ARR!" The smoke alarms blasted tranquility to bits and I raced upstairs to find 4-foot flames where, an hour before, there'd been a pot starting to boil the bits of my breast pump squeaky clean. Far be it for any bacteria to invade my little youngster...who may someday overcome the smoke inhalation he endured as I doused the fire, carried the molten mess outside, and explained the debacle to the arriving fire fighters.
It wasn't long after that recapturing spilled breast milk with a (brand new! but still – ew) sponge seemed like a a better alternative than letting the hard-won elixir be paper-toweled into the trash.
I wish I could say, 5+ years into this, that mommy-brain gets better as children get older. I mean, as their wits sharpen, shouldn't ours?? But if the mis-rsvp'd birthday invitations, neglected birthday wishes — with the birthday-person waiting expectantly on the phone for me to clue in, no less — and increasingly intricate and artistic pattern of rim and bumper bashes are any indication (thank goodness for EFF stickers), no amount of ginko biloba will serve to reverse the degenerative effects. Time to just relax and enjoy the slide.
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