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Thursday, 21 May 2015

Day 26 - Pump Up The Jam

Last night my wife said, ‘A quick pump then off to bed.’  When we were trying to get pregnant it used to be the other way around.

She was of course referring to her loyal and trusty double breast pump which is now a part of the furniture in our house. To confirm this I sat on it yesterday, accidentally of course.

It’s such a viscous little contraption I’m surprised it didn’t embed itself into my sizeable behind and start pumping me, like some low budget 1950’s horror movie.


That would be terrifying. I also appreciate it’s an image that nobody needs in their head.

I got in from work the today and did my standard and unnecessarily camp ‘DADDY’S HOME!’ (complete with jazz hands) as I opened the door. There was no response so assuming my wife was enjoying a well deserved nap I quietly shuffled towards the lounge. As I got closer to the door I started to make out the angry, repetitive grinding noise of this double pumping industrial bastard while it drained my poor wife, physically and spiritually. I popped my head round the door and she looked at me with a face that said you’ll never know what a total pain in the backside this is. 

I considered explaining how I’d sat on the pump yesterday so had a rough idea but it wasn’t the time for jokes, especially incredibly unfunny ones.

Having seen how our lads handle the bottle teats I think my wife made the right decision early on to express and bottle feed rather than let them get the good stuff direct from the tap. They violently fling their heads around until they latch on and then keep ragging from side to side like a dog with a new squeaky toy. It’s obviously too early to predict but at this stage it’s hard to see them being gentle lovers when they come of age.

I always thought I’d like to taste this liquid gold when I got the chance but now the shop is open for business I’m not sure I fancy it. Maybe if I mixed it with a bit of Nesquik? Or in my coffee?

I’m sure there’s a funky hipster coffee shop somewhere in Shoreditch that could easily charge eight quid for a skinny breast milk latte.

Back tomorrow.

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