This morning I made coffee, but there was no milk in the fridge. There was no milk, there was no cream, there was no s'milk*, even. I had to have something.
My eyes fell on a tray of of little plastic bottles. Some were full. Some were full of freshly pumped breast milk.
My inner coffee addict cleared his throat and began to reason that breast milk is even better than cow's milk. It's all natural, after all: crème de la crème. Others in the Parliament of Brain vomited and rent their garments, conjuring scenes of cannibalism and bitty.
In the end, I grabbed one of the bottles and poured a small amount into my coffee. I admit I drank first with one eyebrow up, but my fears were ungrounded - it tasted delicious.
So there you have it. Baby formula makes a fine coffee cream substitute. To those who assumed I grabbed the breast milk bottle: you're sick. Sick!
* s'milk is what we call soy milk at our house - filthy stuff
Tum te tum. In my toils these past few weeks as baby slave, I couldn't help but notice (comma ponder, comma completely obsess over) the amazing prevalence of animal motifs on infant clothing. On anything surrounding the infant, actually. And I can't stop thinking about how REALLY WEIRD it is, and how long it's been the norm.
Admit it, animals are the LAST thing you want around your baby. Especially lions and alligators, which are given a lot of play in our baby's wardrobe, albeit in cutesy-poo format. It's nonsensical: the human race spent thousands of years building up civilization by hunting species to extinction so that our young could be PROTECTED from the wild.
My wife freaks if she sees a spider on the ceiling, for gods' sake.
If anything, my daughter's sleepers should sport a picture of a decapitated lion next to a lacerated alligator, because given the chance, a lion or alligator would EAT HER, and I think dead predators ought to make her feel warm and safe.