My Mini Ginger Ninja
A couple nights ago I almost killed my husband.
He didn’t come home with lipstick on his collar. Nor did he spend our life savings down at the betting shop.
He accidentally wasted an ounce of my expressed breast milk.
James does the 11pm “dream feed” with my milk in a bottle. I spend all day pumping (at least 6 times) in order to squeeze out 4-5 ounces so he has enough for a full feed for Baby. If there is ever any milk left over, he puts it back in the fridge for the 7am feed.
After my 4am feed with Baby on Thursday night, I came tip-toeing out of the nursery, exhausted, only to see the Dream Feed bottle on the stairs with one whole spoiled ounce in it.
ONE WHOLE OUNCE!!!
Just to explain, I’m lucky if I get one whole ounce in a single pumping session. Some women manage to get a full-feed or more from one pump. I don’t. That stuff is like gold dust to me, so when I saw it sitting there wasted, I saw RED.
I went downstairs to do my middle of the night pump and then walked upstairs to our bedroom, reminding myself with every step that it was an accident and trying not to pick up any sharp objects on the way to bed.
Of course, James felt terrible. He knows how much that milk means to me, especially after the time he spilled some in the fridge and I cried like my grandmother had just been mauled by hyenas.
So he did what any penitent husband would do and he wrote me a song and recorded it on Songify. And here it is:
I cried again and forgave him. I mean, he wrote me a song, for chrissake. But if he does it again, he’d better hide the German knife set.