Yesterday I kept Bink with me so we could go to his 9 month check up. Today was supposed to be at least partially baby-free so that I could accomplish a long list of important things. Like blogging. And uploading home videos to YouTube. And buying new jeans (since my favorite pair lost a battle to a fish oil vitamin last week...they still smell like a wharf).
Last night I realized there was some breast milk in the refrigerator. My mommy brain thought, oh, better freeze that. It won't keep until next week when Bink goes back to daycare. Next week? Hey there, Brain. How about tomorrow? Now, thawing out milk isn't a big deal, but once its been thawed it needs to be used within 24 hours. I try no to thaw it out unless I know we'll use it. That meant I'd need to pump in the morning.
This morning started off pretty smoothly. Hubby took baby duty last night so I'd had a mostly full night of sleep. Bink got back in bed with me around 6:30 a.m., nursed, snuggled, and watched the Today Show until he was ready for a little morning nap.
We got back up, got dressed, and went downstairs so I could start pumping. At this point I have had no Diet Coke, no coffee, no breakfast, no nothing. I brilliantly decide to let Bink play on the floor while I pump since he hates being couped up in his exersaucer now. I rationalize this by thinking we have baby proofed pretty well and there is nothing out that he couldn't play with.
I sit down to pump, hook everything up, and then start a constant loop of "No, no, Bink" and "Bink, put that down, want this?" The problem with pumping is that it takes a while for your milk to let down. And once it does, you really shouldn't detach and stop to chase after 9 month old babies. Any stopping in the process slows down the milk, thereby delaying my diet coke, coffee, breakfast, and getting Bink's butt to daycare so I can have 10 minutes of peace.
Bink headed straight for my basket of books and magazines, grabbing firmly onto a paperback that my Mom lent me. In order to save the paperback's life, I leapt up (still attached to the pump) and snagged it from Bink. I offered him my cell phone instead. He happily went to chewing and slobbering on that for a few minutes. That is until he found my new issue of Working Mother magazine. I justified letting him rip a few pages out of it...until he started to eat the paper. I pretty sure he actually swallowed a small bite or two before I got the subscription card out of his mouth.
Noticing the tower fan across the room, he took off crawling for it and tried to pull himself up. The fan wobbled back and forth precariously for a minute before he gave up. In order to lure him back closer to me I offered him...my shoe. Don't judge me. I was out of toys, paper products, and expensive electronics to bribe him with.
Amazingly, Bink had no interest in my flip-flop and promptly took off for the side table. He snagged a pile of important paperwork from the contractor who is going to fix the snow-pocolypse damage to the house. Knowing I'd been beat, I unplugged the pump bag (though I was still attached to the pump parts) and ran across the room. I balanced the pump parts on my boobs with one arm and scooped Bink up with the other.
You can imagine how well that went. While I did salvage the paperwork from Binky's grubby paws, that is about all I managed. In the process of setting Bink back down, I dumped breast milk all over myself...the pump bag...and my only clean pair of jeans.
At that point, I gave up. I put Bink in his high chair with some puffs. I put the pump bag on the kitchen counter to deal with later. I wipe myself off, made Bink's bottle with what milk was left, and fed him a bowl of cereal.
I dropped Bink off at daycare and started off in search of breakfast and, more importantly, caffeine. I called Hubby for his "package delivery confirmation" (we always call after dropping Bink at daycare) and started chatting away at him. Instead of responding to my witty recounting of the milk debacle, he says "Honey? Honey? Are you there? I can't hear you!"
I hang up and call him back. I can hear him. He can't hear me. I repeat this process a few more times (I'm not easily deterred by failure) before giving up, slapping some mascara on in the Panera Bread parking lot, and going to get my breakfast.
Iced coffee and bagel with peanut butter in hand I hunker down in a comfy chair for some free wi-fi. I google "LG Dare speaker problems" and try to figure out a solution. The first option is to remove the battery and let it sit for a few minutes. When I take the back of the phone off, the inside is COVERED with baby slobber. No wonder the speaker won't work, I'm amazing the phone is still turning on!
I dried the area off with my sleeve (resourceful, aren't I?) and let the battery sit for a few minutes before trying to call Hubby a few more times. Still no luck. Now I'm still sitting in Panera an hour and half later texting all my pictures and video to my facebook page since I'm pretty sure the Verizon store is going to want to restore the factory defaults on my phone.
I woke up this morning thinking I was going to have a relaxing day to myself. Ah, the best laid plans...