I fell asleep at the breastfeeding appointment today, with Simon also asleep on my lap. I have faint memories of Suzy and lactation consultant Lana squeezing the areole (too tired to look up the correct spelling), of a nylon “kit breast” into the mouth of Armand, the afro-haired cabbage patch kid newborn. The heat was up in the consultant’s office, a south facing room in a suburban house, and the door was shut to keep out the poodle. When I woke up I noticed a dusty Christmas snow globe on the window sill and a sticker asking fire fighters to please, please save the poodle and the rabbit. Bunny was nowhere to be seen during our two-hours of squeeze and suck training (very relevant for me), and I’m sure the fire fighters would be fine with risking their lives for Bugs if, God-forbid, a breast pump overheated and caused a fire.
Ducts
