Tuesday, August 2, 2011

true friendship and a breast pump

I have a friend, who shall remain unnamed (not in the creepy way of Voldemort, he who must not be named or whatever Harry Potter people say).......

Anyway, my friend and I have known each other since birth.  We are related (second cousins, once removed, I think - I googled it because I wasn't sure)...but more than being cousins of some sort, we are friends.

She's this sort of friend:  (disclaimer to any male readers:  stop reading now and go to SportsCenter or something manly...we're about to use words like breast, milk and pump.  You should get out while you still have time.)

Anyway, like I was saying, she's this sort of friend:

After my first child was born, my friend came to visit us when we got home from the hospital.  She happened to pop in just as my husband was assembling the mega-superindustrial breast pump that we rented.  We're chatting on the couch as he is sorting through the bottles, tubing, and those suction cup funnel things.  Mind you, my hubby is a fix-it kind of guy.  Not a read the directions kind of guy, but he can usually figure things out because he's smart like that.  Breast pump?  No problem.  He's also a wannabe farmer so I guess he figured it can't be much different than a milker for ol' Bessie.

Meanwhile, my milk had come in.  And I don't mean, my milk came in.  I mean, my boobs went from an A cup to a triple M and were ready to burst.  My skin was so tight that I actually thought my breasts might explode. 

I tried to remain calm as we chatted, secretly thinking in my head, "Get the thing together already or we are all going to be covered in milk."

My friend, who has a child and is generally handy and knowledgeable about such things asked if he wanted help. 

No.  He could do it.

I think she detected by the way I was rocking and holding my breasts that something needed to happen here or it might get ugly.  She offered to help again.  This time he accepted and in 2 seconds, she had the megapump 2000 ready to go.

By this time, my milk engorged breasts had hardened into giant cement balloons.  The funnel things went on but not much milk came out.  My friend suggested massaging my breasts. 

Here's a tip:  You can't hold 2 funnel things onto your own breasts and massage them at the same time. 

The solution?

My friend kneeled down in front of me and held the funnels on while I rubbed my boobs to try and keep them from exploding.

That is true friendship.

I'm not sure any other person would have done that for me.

She may have saved my life that day.

Because I'm pretty sure if your boobs explode, you'd die.

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