On the rarest of occasions, sometimes my need for my boss’s office (you know, the pump breaks) gets trumped by somebody else’s need for the office. In those instances, I slump my shoulders, trudge into the back room, strap myself in and enjoy watching all of my coworkers try to ignore the BAAAGGGGNNNHHH BAAAGGGGNNNHHH BAAAGGGGNNNHHH BAAAGGGGNNNHHH BAAAGGGGNNNHHH of my breast pump.
If you don’t know this about nursing and pumping, an interesting fact is that it always makes you thirsty. I never get down to business without having a tall glass of water next to me. Additionally, I try to eat a little something as being well fed seems to benefit the milk supply.
Well, yesterday I brought in leftovers for lunch. And what were these leftovers? Fish soup. You heard me. FISH soup. You see, I was sick on Tuesday. About midday that day, it had occurred to me how nice it’d be to have some chicken noodle soup… except I didn’t have any chicken. But I had plenty o’ veggies, so I sautéed, simmered, boiled, etc. until I had a nice and flavorful broth. And after grilling up a piece of steelhead filet, I shredded that and added it to the soup, simmering it for a bit longer.
Surprisingly enough, it worked! Brian even ate it (albeit with his usual load of saltine crackers… ALWAYS the saltine crackers).
Anyhow, I’m always hesitant to heat up fishy leftovers at work. The first time that I ever made that mistake, the smell of my fish wafted into the salon just as another stylist was applying a chemical treatment on client. Suffice it to say, that particular client kinda freaked out, confusing the chemical treatment for the fish, and panicked that she, too, was going to smell like the fish.
But yesterday’s mix-up might have been slightly more amusing. One particular, young coworker (one who is very, very, VERY uncomfortable with anything having to do with breast milk) happened to walk in on me both pumping AND eating my leftover fish soup. Confused by the rhythm of the pump and the fishy scent in the air, her stomach turned as she assumed that my breast milk must smell like fish.
Heebie jeebie city.
I laughed. A lot.
And I’m not sure how this happened, but somewhere in my defense of breast milk, I ended up going with a booger analogy (being that many people eat their boogers and that, too, comes from the body… a habit of which I am not in favor, btw). She assured me she’d much rather eat a booger than ever taste breast milk. I swear, this was a conversation that I never pictured myself having. Then again, I never pictured myself using my shirt to wipe Bennett’s snotty nose, but this week is full of surprises now isn’t it?