If you really must know the reason I started this blog, this is it. I have already watched every episode of The Deadliest Catch twice, I’ve defeated both versions of Cake Mania, and Diner Dash on my Nintendo DS. I’ve watched every episode of Project Runway, read two books, laughed, cried, slept, talked on the phone, watched hundreds of Seinfeld episodes, all of the Vicar of Dibley, and I’ve seen every Kathy Griffin stand-up special on Bravo (there’s fifty of them, I think) at least twice.
And now I’m bored.
And now I pump.
Every three to four hours. Used be every two hours.
Did you know that breast pump cups come in different sizes? That was a painful realization. Someone should tell you that. I was four weeks into this process before I realized this. I nearly had a meltdown in Target.
By the way, if anyone wants to buy me a present, I need 800 boxes of Medela Breastmilk Storage Bags, 50ct.
The first few weeks I pumped Grace would come into the room and point at me, scream “Boobs!” then laugh and run away. And I would cry.
Now she turns on the pump for me. And turns it off. Sometimes several times a minute. She still laughs. I don’t cry anymore.
We had to throw food away to make room for my supply in the freezer. That was one month ago. We’re going to have to clear another shelf soon. I’m already 45 days ahead of Hope.
So the cat’s out of the bag. I’m a pump ’n’ blogger. I’m probably pumping right now, or I just finished, or am killing time until I pump again.
Thought you’d like to know.