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Like son, like father

Written by: Josh May 23 2011 Pretty much immediately after her body started producing copious amounts of the stuff, my wife started bugging me about her breast milk. The exchange went something like this: W: Are you going to try it? I think you should try it. I mean, it’s your choice, but aren’t you...

Written by: Josh

Pretty much immediately after her body started producing copious amounts of the stuff, my wife started bugging me about her breast milk. The exchange went something like this:

W: Are you going to try it? I think you should try it. I mean, it’s your choice, but aren’t you the least bit curious?

M: It sounds like you’re curious. Why don’t you try it first and let me know how it is.

W: Nooooo, that would be like cannibalism.

M: In what way? Seems more like recycling to me.

W: No, that’s gross. That would be like drinking your own blood or any other bodily fluid.

M: So then why do you want me to try it?

W: It’s not your fluid. Besides, it’s just milk. It’s nutritious. I want to know how it compares. I’m not asking you to douse your Wheaties in it or anything, just take a sip. Tell me how it is.

M: Maybe later. I’m, uh, just not thirsty right now. That Big Gulp and all.

W: Fine, if you don’t want to try it, fine. I just thought with all this pumping and breastfeeding I do, I didn’t think I was asking too much. But that’s fine.

And so on. This has gone on in varying degrees of severity for the past six months. Maybe it’s just me, but for some reason, I couldn’t really get over the mental hump of just pouring myself a nice tall glass of breast milk. Plus, it’s not the same—breast milk is meant to be drunk warm (like sake), not cold. It’s a total paradigm shift for which my brain was not prepared. Okay, yes, I’ve heard of a glass of warm milk before bed, but who does that? Then again, who drinks their wife’s breast milk?

So I finally caved, though on my terms. Like your average stubborn male, nagging got her nowhere. It was only when she stopped bringing it up long enough that she forgot about it and then I could re-present the idea as my own that it seemed worth trying. I’m not saying that makes sense, it’s just the how male psyche has been known to operate. Or perhaps it’s just me.

Anyway, the next question was how to actually perform the task: shot glass? Cafe au lait? Cold, warm, on the rocks or frothed? In the end, the answer came to me naturally. We started Baby on rice cereal. It seemed like a natural medium for the taste-test.

And that was that! All the buildup and discussions came to an end one random Tuesday, around 11 a.m., while my wife was at work. In fact, I just told her I tried it.

W: So, what did it taste like???

M: It tasted like milk!

W: Well, was it good?

M: Sure, if you like milk.

W: Oh, okay. Well, I was just curious. I don’t know what the big deal was.

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