Monday, February 15, 2010
The Milking Purse
Yesterday evening my stress level was through the roof. I was working on a deadline on a new writing project and I wasn't exactly sure how to proceed with it. My entire family was home and the kids had a major case of cabin fever. They were running like banshees (what's a banshee?) through the house, jumping on furniture, screaming, laughing, and having a ball. I did not share their enthusiasm and was sitting at my computer, hands shaking on the keys, right on the cusp of a nervous breakdown (this was before I put on my Michelle Duggar Zen master mask).
My daughter ran towards the couch and warp speed, jumped on it, scaled it and landed on the bay window ledge behind. The then catapulted her body over the edge of the couch and landed on the cushions where she claimed to be stuck. I heard this in the kitchen:
Daughter: "Mommy! Help me!"
Me: "I'm working. What do you need?"
Daughter: "I'm stuck."
Me: silence. I didn't believe her.
Daughter: "Mommy! I'm stuck! My foot is stuck in the milking purse."
This baffled me so I looked to the huz for guidance. His shoulders were shaking with laughter. I said, "What the heck is she talking about?"
He explained that she was referring to the breast pump.
I had to laugh. It was one of those cliche "Kids say the darndest things" kind of moments. The breast pump is encased in a black fabric bag with a large handle. Of course my daughter would understand it as a "milking purse." Maybe Medela and some of the other pump manufacturers should take a hint from my daughter and market their own hip version of a milking purse.