Whoever coined the phrase, “don’t cry over spilt milk,” was CLEARLY not a pumping mama. While Potamus doesn’t actually take a bottle (despite my being back full time), I have been pumping faithfully since he was born. I haven’t decided on an actual use for this milk yet, but I know it won’t go to waste. I’ve offered it to my brother’s 7 week old daughter (who he is trying to get custody of, but that’s another story), or I could mix it in to thin food out, or donate it to preemies. I know it won’t go to waste…it is liquid gold, afterall.
But today I went to the freezer to add some more milk to my stash, and…
…
…the freezer was open.
Yes, it was just a crack, but when I panicked and asked Boof the last time HE had used the freezer (over a week) I realized it had been me…a few days ago…and that the milk in the freezer door was most likely spoiled.
So frustrated. Sad. Angry. Mad at myself for being distracted and not noticing. Mad at Boof for not having a job so that I have to work so that I feel the need to pump. Yes, I threw a little pity part, because throwing out 160 ounces of milk (we went painstakingly through each bag, smelled it for freshness), is equal to over 2 weeks of pumping. Down the drain.
While I didn’t actually cry, I felt like it. And it was over spilt milk.
Blergh.
boof & monk-monk 