Worst Threesome Ever

Breast-pumping was a big part of my life. I spent almost a year pumping those puppies, day in and day out, on the griiiiiind.

As many people are completely unaware of this feat, I thought I would share a magical story of love and embarrassment, awkward grins and merriment, breasts and a bit of ankle cleavage, to highlight how all mums should win a Golden Globe for pumping. 

For you newbies, you young ones that are sitting at home scrolling through Snapchat photo after Snapchat photo, listening to Rhianna on Spotify with Stranger Things playing in the background on Netflix. You probably think getting your boobs out might be fun, you know, because it might be like last April when you went all IT’S SPRING BREAK LOOK AT MY BOOBS Girls Gone Wild style. 

breastpump spring break 

Well let me tell ya, getting your boobs out for a breast pump is quite a different experience. I’ve done both, and while Señor Frogs Wet T-Shirt contest was more exciting, I would have to say that breast-pumping is more fun. **Gasp!**

Let me just paint you a picture. 

Imagine sitting down, unpacking your retro black bag full of breastfeeding goodies, one breast cup after the other breast cup, and two milk bottles you steamed this morning. You can smell the sweet fresh vanilla candle on your nightstand. The milk storage bags that feel like smooth butter in your hands. You start to unbutton your shirt, one button after the next button. The warm but delightful air from the window blows over your face. You put the pump to your breast and press ON. **Errrrr Errrr Errr Errrrrr Errrr Errrr** You tilt your head back and relax. You finish off both breasts and feel ten thousand times better now that your boobs don’t feel like someone stuffed a hard rock inside of them. And you’re all like….aaahhhhh. **Sigh of relief**

breastpumping in room 

So now do you get me? Breast-pumping can be quite a relaxing experience when you’re in the right environment.

SO, as my grandfather would say (while gesturing with his right hand), “lemme tell ya a story.” 

It was three months after my son’s birth. I was BORED AT OF MY MIND. My life, quite literally, was boobing the baby, changing the nappy, rocking the baby, boobing the baby, changing the nappy, rocking the baby….need I go on? 

It was time to party. 

I needed to get out of that milky, pooey house and be my former Spring Break Froggy McFroggy Señorita (not that it was less pooey there, in a metaphorical sense). 

My friend was having a birthday party! YES please. I don’t even care who’s going, I’m going to talk to everyone, I’m going to drink everything and I am going to “kiss” my boyfriend all night long. Babysitter galore. 

The babysitter shows up and I pretend to be a good parent and tell her all of the things that my son needs, blah, blah, blah, and rushed out the door without even a kiss on my son’s forehead. (I know I am a terrible mother.

bye

We took the underground all the way to the little old East side of London, where hipsters, food trucks and ankle cleavage lay. I try and act super cool and put my sun glasses on even though it’s nighttime. My boyfriend looks at me like I’m an idiot but I don’t even notice, I AM OUT BABAY. I strut like a wannabe model with crooked knees, my high-heeled black boots and leopard jacket looking all homeless chic. Nobody can tell my breast-pump is hidden in my jet black Top Shop bag (oh yea I’m down with the kids AND I pump milk out of my boobs, Superwoman over here). I’m all Mrs. Clark Kent. At any moment I could whip out my pump and milk those pups right up to save the world.

My friend opens the door to his flat. “OH HAAAYYYY!!! I’m so excited to be out!…..I mean ….HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

happy birthday

The night wanders on. Prosecco after prosecco, vodka shot over here, Gin and Tonic over there, half a cigarette, and another prosecco to keep up with the girlies (..and slow down on the Gin)

All of a sudden. In a quick whip around, my friend pulls me hard into the other room. She looks at my breasts in utter disgust. I slowly look down knowing the dreaded warm, liquid goo has made an appearance. And there it was. TWO MIlK STAINES. All over my nipple area and dripping down the shirt. “IT CAN’T BE.” **Whinge, Whinge, Blah Blah Blah, Worry, Worry**

It’s not over. 

I say to my friend, “I have to pump ASAP, do you have a quiet room I can go into?”

She walks me down the hall and up the stairs to a very secluded, private looking room. It’s..how do I say…a young-man-in-his-twenties-play-area. T-shirts thrown all over the floor, bog standard sheets ruffled into the corners of the wall, dirty football shoes that smell in the doorway. **This will have to do**

My friend leaves the room. Of course, NO LOCK ON THE DOOR. Crap. I turn the lights off and put my phone flashlight on just in case anyone tries to walk in so I can quickly cover up the evidence.

Then I sit on the edge of the bed not wanting to get too close to the sheets that may or may not have some sort of juice on them. I take my shirt off (because hey why not, I’ve had seven drinks, and it’s much easier without a shirt on!). I put the phone on the floor and angle it so the light is on my bag. I open my very cool Top Shop bag (and pat myself on the back once again for my amazing purchasing skills) and I get out the black bag of breastpumping goodies. Unzip, pop on the breast cups, plug in the electric cord to the wall. I press ON. Errr….Errr….Err….Errr. Aaaaahhh. **Now this isn’t too bad** 

It’s been about three minutes and I get lost in a daze of pumping relaxation and buzzing prosecco warming my body. I can faintly hear the noise of the excited conversations carrying on downstairs, and in particular, a guy aggressively flirting with a girl. **Oh sweet, young love. Sigh.**

And then. It happened. The most terribly awful thing that could ever occur to a new mum who has been hibernating in the house for the last three months boobing, nappy changing and sleeping. Basically a person that has become a mouse. A person that doesn’t know how to communicate to adults or be a basic human being. And then in all of it’s strife and glory, there he was.

The birthday boy, looking dazed and confused. The light from the hallway beaming on me, like a spotlight for a really crap romantic comedy. My face burns pink and I scream in extreme embarrassment, “No, No, Nooooooo…” The birthday boy, my boobs, and the pump. All out there, uncovered and bright pink, in the open. The worst threesome ever. He stands there frozen, too drunk and still very confused. “Wait, what is that?” 

“DUDE SERIOUSLY, get out!”

And of course, my best friend happens to walk by the room. Looks at us and starts laughing hysterically. 

Donald Trump couldn’t have even made this situation worse. I felt like my whole body was pink, let alone my face. My heart was racing, my palms and boobs were sweating. I quickly jammed the pump into my bag, threw my shirt back on and ran out of the room. **Damn it. I forgot my bra…… F*** it.**

My friend continues laughing and walks with me down the stairs back to the party. She hands me two shots of vodka and I down them without even a wince. “Let’s get really, really drunk now, okay?”

“I’m already there!”

Facebook Comments

22 thoughts on “Worst Threesome Ever

  1. Love this! So funny getting down with the kids all Shoreditch cool and then, hey presto, the boobs are leaking!! I’d almost forgotten the pumping days – I remember feeling like a cow getting pumped. #stayclassymama

  2. haha … very good. It’s been about 3 years since I pumped, but if feels like more. But the sound of the breast pump is something you never forget!
    Thanks for sharing!
    #stayclassymama

  3. I so thought that there was going to turn out to be a couple getting it on the bed at the end of that story. But I guess you would have had to have been REALLY drunk not to notice that. I am so envious that you went to a house party when your son was three months. I lived in East London when my daughter was three months. I’m talking the uber hipster part. And the closest I got to partying was going to a bar to watch a rugby match… with my baby! #stayclassymama

  4. I don’t know if I’m sorry for laughing my tits off (intentional pun there!) at this or not!! Leaky boobs literally suck (did it again!) #stayclassymama

  5. Ha! Never tried to bring my breastpump out with me, but one of the first nights I went back out on the town, my bra was really bugging me, so I went to the bathroom and found that I had been wearing a nipple shield all night. Not even sure how that happened. #stayclassymama

  6. Awww bless you! Thats sounds awful yet hilarious… bless you! I never got on with pumping actually… kept trying and then eventually gave up as he wouldn’t take a bottle! <3

  7. oh wow, this is amazing! I couldnt even consider going out for a night whilst boobfeeding! so straight away i have major respect for you!
    I also havent had a night out getting pissed since pre Ben so again… major respect!
    I got walked in on whilst expressing in the hospital but three of my closest lady family members who dont even say vagina or penis, its the tulip and the dinky, so for them to walk in on my baps right out with no cares made them a bit shocked hahaha.
    i truely think once you’ve had a kid all self respect goes out the window! #stayclassymama

  8. Pubbing with a baby is interesting, I did this a few times (okay a lot) and while it was nice to have a drink it also kind of stressed me out! I love east london, although I feel like I don’t fit in anymore haha especially with the pumpin

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.