Pumpin Drunk

Ok I was a little "happy" while I wrote this one. So happy I forgot to post it. Well, better late than never - right?

Yea, I said it. I'm pumping drunk. Cool your jets people, I'm not going to feed it to my kid. Since I haven't had a serious bender...well....since the night I got pregnant, I am a pretty cheap date. So I went to happy hour with a few co-workers. Before the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could pick up child at daycare. Check. After the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could feed her a bottle (it went something like "I am going to be hammered. Please feed her a bottle."). Then he texted to ask me if I wanted sushi.

Good husband.

Consumed more wine, walked home (which must have been humorous to watch - drunk lady stumbling home with a breast pump and a laptop). I get home and despite the fact that my kid now finds it amusing to bite me with those two little teeth of death, I continue to do some breastfeeding. I'm no martyr, nor am I a glutton for punishment. It's mostly because I need to GET. IT. OUT. On this fair evening I unceremoniously retired the pump at work so it's home with me. I decide I will pump and dump at home. So while husband is putting child to bed in the other room I am drunk, hooked up to a pump and posting to my blog. Sad, sad life I lead.

Pumping drunk has its risks, namely getting stuff all over the place. First I realize too late that the containers are dangerously full...try to rectify, spills on my leg. Then I have no where to put it. Through one squinty eye I see the to-go coffee cup that I just pulled out of work bag. Dump containers and replace the lid on the to-go cup. Pump some more, stop. Unplug. Accidentally spill half of the container on leg. Curse. Grab to-go cup, dump remainder. Fail to realize the lid is on and closed. Curse again. Spill.

Totally disoriented. I will be SO FRICKIN HAPPY when I never have to do this again.