My nipples are killing me. I won’t go into too much detail because my entire family reads this Web site. Let’s just say, I can’t even tolerate a hug at the moment without the feeling of a million heated daggers shooting into each nipple. It’s terrible. And I’m working on trying to figure out what is wrong and what I can do to help myself. Because of the pain, each drop of breast milk is handled as though it’s angel piss, really expensive, cancer-curing angel piss.
Last night Tobyjoe and I were dizzily wandering around the apartment mentally preparing ourselves for sleep. It was 8 PM. I had just finished pumping and was getting ready to fix a 2.5 ounce bottle for Emory. I put the bottle next to the sink and began washing out some breast pump paraphenalia. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was thinking that Tobyjoe and I were of sound mind enough to multitask.
He washed his hands, and as he shook them off and I watched my freshly pumped bottle of breast milk topple over. Its contents sprayed all over the clean dishes, my pant leg and the rug below.
“OH MY GOD.” He began, his face contorting into a guilty mess. “I am SO SORRY.”
“It’s really ok. It’s not a big deal.” And I meant it. It was an accident. Sure, it sucked but embracing any extraneous emotion seems far worse an option these days. I can only handle so much emotion. (For example, earlier, when the bottom drawer to my dresser accidentally slid open, the same dresser drawer where we keep Schmitty’s ashes since we have yet to get a proper urn to keep him in, and Tucker came over to check things out, that scenario warranted a proper cry. But crying over spilt breast milk? I may be emotional, but I’m not quite a walking cliché.)
I looked around at all the white drops. They slid down the glasses before me and along the metal sink edge. They dripped down the counter and toward the floor. I knew this would happen sooner or later. There had been several times I fumbled an entire bottle of freshly pumped breast milk only to catch it right before it toppled over. But the first thing that crossed my mind were all my failures and insecurities. If I could just breast feed my son, this wouldn’t have happened. If I could just avoid using all of these bottles, this wouldn’t have happened. If I could just formula feed my child guilt-free, this wouldn’t have mattered.
If I could just…