Breaking Up With My Breast Pump

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breat-pump-milkDear Breast Pump,

We’ve been together for a year now, though if I’m being honest, I’ve hated you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Still in those early days we were together a lot – doing it at all hours of the day and night. Remember all those episodes of Friday Night Lights we watched together as you sucked my boobs dry? Those were good times. But lately things between us just haven’t been the same, and I’m writing this letter to tell you: It’s over. If your wondering if there’s someone else, the answer is, yes, there is. Whole Milk. I just picked up two gallons of it at Costco and poured it in a bottle and that was it. Being with Whole Milk is just…easy, in a way that you are not. You’re difficult, Breast Pump. You’re so sensitive, what with your parts that always need cleaning. Not to mention you come with so much baggage, literally. All those god damn plastic milk bags that I never seemed to have enough of. You’re high maintenance, too. I mean seriously – you need to be lugged around in a tote back everywhere we go. And god, the never-ending noise! Do you ever shut up, Breast Pump? The constant chugging and whirring. Ugh, and the bragging! I get it – YOU’RE HOSPITAL GRADE. Get over yourself.

I guess I should tell you that there was someone else while we were dating, too. Look, I know it hurts, but Formula and I, we just clicked. Did you know that I can order bins and bins of Formula off the internet and it will show up at my house the next day, just like that? Think of the hours you and I spent just trying to crank a measly four ounces of milk out of my tattered breasts. We both know that by the time Baby Giant was 2-months-old she was guzzling more than four ounces in a sitting. It was only a matter of time before I needed something you just couldn’t give me, no matter how hard we tried. And we tried, Breast Pump. We really tried.

Sure, we had some good times together. Toronto, New York City, all those trysts in bathroom stalls. We did it on airplanes, couches, and conference rooms; in hotel rooms and at my in-laws house. I even used you in the car driving all around Los Angeles. But I’m over you, Breast Pump. I need my freedom. And you need someone who doesn’t mind the permanent back sweat and shoulder aches from carrying you around.

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