I was on the deck with Teyla yesterday afternoon, trimming back my cilantro, when I heard Connor messing around in the fridge.
"What do you need, buddy?" I called without turning around.
"I can't get the lid off this milk!" he answered.
"Just hang on a minute," I replied. "I'm almost done here. I can help you as soon as I come in."
Thirty seconds later, I walked into the kitchen to find a 4-ounce bottle of freshly pumped breast milk sitting on the counter -- with 2 ounces missing.
Connor was standing to the side with a guilty look on his face.
"Buddy, did you drink Teyla's milk?" I gasped.
He hung his head. "It tasted funny."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
In the end, I chose laughter -- because Connor did enough crying for both of us. I hate to pump -- in fact, yesterday was the first time I've pumped since Teyla was born, and even that was only done because I want to start introducing a bottle to her so Corey and I can go on a date again this year. So I guess my startled reaction when I saw 2 precious ounces gone really threw Connor for a loop. I think his lip quivered for a full 30 minutes. He felt awful. And it truly wasn't his fault. He didn't even know what the little bottle was. It just looked interesting to him.
I guess it just illustrates the proverb: Don't cry over spilled milk. Unless it's breast milk. Then sob.
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