Just for memories, here’s what I did Thursday morning in Florence. As you know, I’m breastfeeding. It’s not something I talk about a lot or even love, but I do it because it’s free and easy. Well, easy after the first month. Anyway, I guess it’s the American in me that doesn’t want to announce (or show) it to the world.
Since I’m still nursing at home, that means on vacation I’m pumping. Although I think pumping is about as fun as the dentist, I’ll do it for a trip to Italy.
I know enough Italian to order food, take a taxi, find the bathroom. But buy a breast pump? UH, no. So when the old pump decided it didn’t really want to pump, off I go. And of all the mornings that neither of the girls are working… yes, of course. I get to ask the cute Italian man where to buy and pump and how to say it in Italian.
I tried to contact La Leche League first, figuring they like to talk about this stuff. I emailed them. It was a response, all in Italian, telling me to join Yahoo groups. Yikes, I definetly can't translate all that! Then I tried to call them. I'm guessing it was an answering machine. I have not the slightest clue what it was saying. I might have been calling a plumber.
Thankfully I did ask. Otherwise I would have been doing breast pump charades with the pharmacist. Literal translation? Pulling milk. That’s right everyone (well, 3 men at the front desk at least) I need to pull some milk out of my body. Ug.
I should really have take a photo of me with all the parts. It was like a science experiment. Beakers, funnels, gaskets... Oh my. And chicco, would it really kill you to put a photo or drawing or something in the directions? How do I know where that gasket goes? A piston? Really?
The interesting part is that every night on at least 2 channels there are plenty of breasts. And they are out for show. But for some twisted reason, I still didn’t want to ask where to buy a breast pump.
Going circle, I went to the Accademia today. You know, Michelangelo’s David. Let me say, it is impressive. And his junk is all out in the breeze for sure. And as I was walking through the rest of the museum looking at the 645th Mary and Jesus painting, what did I see? Mary was BREASTFEEDING. Seriously. In at least 2 paintings. And she, and even little chubby baby, looked happy for a change, boob hanging out for the world to see for hundreds of years. If I could only be so brave Mary.
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