And I’m not up with a crying baby. No. I’m up pumping. I live in fear that if I don’t pump each night before bed, that the ladies will start to dry up and our breastfeeding days will come to an end. Isn’t that weird?
So, as I was typing this (and pumping, mind you!), there was a knock at my door. AT 12:30 AM! I pump in my living room, facing the damned door, because, well, I pump late enough that no one will show up and see me. Right? Wrong. It was strange. So strange. I called for B and he came and saw the gal on our stoop, turned off our security system, and answered the door. She was seemingly drunk, and there was a man in an old, beat up car in our driveway waiting for her (he notes these things in case there’s trouble!). CRAZY! She was looking for people with a different last name than us, and people who don’t live in our neighborhood (I popped onto the assessor’s website to check out the name). It left me feeling quite uneasy. I didn’t sleep well.