Got Ants?

Ants love breast milk.

This is something they don't tell you in the books. Lactation consultants will not prepare you for the moment you pick up a discarded spit-up rag to find the underside teaming with the little buggers. You will freak out. If you have not slept for 6 months, you might just have a complete mental breakdown. On the floor. With tears and snot and trembling and Lo! the unholy usage of the Lord's name.

I'm just saying.

Anyway - I've had two years to recover from THAT scenario. However, just when you thought it was safe to go into the water . . . Ants II - The Second Coming.

I was zoning out while pumping at work when I looked down and saw something bobbing in the breast milk. Not a good sign. So, I kept pumping and watched in horror as this black thing rose higher and higher in the bottle. Finally, I sort of tilted the bottle mid-pump and got a good, full, side-view on the thing. A creepy crawly carpenter ant. FREAKY.

The best part is that I got back to my office and had to tell someone. I mean, wouldn't you? Who could keep that bottled up inside them? So, I told this woman at work who is probably 10 years younger than I am and sort of innocent and naive but in a fun way. Like Betty White in the Golden Girls. And I'm totally grossing her out and she's making these completely horrified faces. Then, before I can start questioning how the ant got in there . . . was it in my bag all along? Was it hiding out in the bottle waiting? Or was it lurking in the Mothers' Room, waiting for some unsuspecting sleep-deprived victim? Before I can get to any of that, she blurts out, "How did the ant come out of your boob? And how could you not have FELT it when it did?!?"

Pumping Iron

There is a man at work who sees me at least once a day (sometimes twice) making the long trek from my office to the Mothers' Room to pump. He is a friendly, lazy-eyed mailroom employee who is in the habit of making small-talk with everyone he passes in the hall. It is sometimes difficult to ascertain who he is addressing since his two eyes are never focusing in the same direction. I never know which one to look at when I respond to him and so I usually stare at the middle of his forehead while commenting on something banal like the weather, the impending long weekend, or the fact that it is buffalo chicken day in the cafeteria. This is a strategy that has served me well - I have even shared it with my co-workers and, though skeptical at first, they too have adopted my method with great success.

One day, however, one of his eyes caught sight of my gigantic black breast pump backpack. It's large, unwieldy, microfiber monstrosity and can hold my double flanged pump, its various accessories, and a small cooler full of 4 oz. glass baby bottles. It's pretty much the equivalent of having a flashing neon billboard with the word "LACTATING," strapped to my back. Only, this guy clearly did not see it that way at all. "Going to the gym?" he asked, one eye looking right at me and the other veering off towards the sari-enrobed Indian woman walking a few feet in front of him. I was caught off guard and by the time I realized he actually was talking to me all I could blurt out was a hesitant, " . . . yeah . . . "

Honestly, what could I say? Even if I had time to explain, and passing someone in the hall is no place for lengthy conversations, I wouldn't want to delve into the topic of breastfeeding with this man I hardly knew. I'd prefer him not to ever think of my breasts. As far as I was concerned it would be best if he didn't even know I had them. Don't ask, don't tell. Nothing to see here. Carry on. So, I let him think he was correct - I was sneaking off to the gym to jazzercise my postpartum baby weight away. Whatever. A little white lie never hurt anyone.

It's been about 6 months now, though. And after seeing me every day (sometimes twice a day) "going to the gym" I often wonder what he's thinking. I have surmised that he must think I'm a little OCD about getting in shape. And also, he must feel quite sorry for me because clearly I am doing something horribly wrong if I am working out twice a day everyday and I still have a stomach that looks like this:

Silly Girls

Tick Tock Method

In my last post I mentioned researching the best way to burp a baby. Here is a video of Steven performing the Tick Tock Method on Emma.

Thing 1 and Thing 2

Steven is going to kill me for posting a video where his naked gut is resting on the counter for the majority of the time, but this is too hilarious for me not to share it with all of you. Maybe my dad was right and we should have stopped by the nearest tattoo parlor on the way home from the hospital and had the girls' names permanently etched on their bums.

* Special thanks to Steven for blocking me from the camera. While his belly was propped up on the counter, mine was gently sweeping the floor. I might be down 40 pounds since giving birth, but my saggy stomach skin is like warm salt water taffy. Mmmmmm.