My Boobs are Cool. And, Jim Dropped the Baby

I have overactive milk letdown. Without going into a lot of boring details about the condition, I'll just say that it results in really quick breastfeeding sessions. Like, four minutes and the kid is FULL. However, it can also complicate such conditions such as...oh, say reflux for example, should your child be afflicted with such an ailment. Which all of my children are/were. In short, the child slams back a full feed in four minutes, and I hold my breath. Will projectile vomiting ensue? We are always on our toes around here!

Happily, the upside of this condition means that when we go out, feeding the baby doesn't really need to distract from the activities at hand. Today, we went to Orleans to eat, and then to visit our friends (love you Christine and Reagan! That Reagan can play piano, man!). The two times Liam fed were barely noticed. I couldn't even call them an interruption. For someone like myself who is modest and dislikes whipping out a boob in public, the quick feeds are a blessing.

Now, as one can imagine, the velocity with which the milk evacuates the breast is quite impressive. Those who have been unfortunate enough to witness this are both amused and in awe of this freakish super power. Last weekend, I was feeding Liam in a family room at a mall. There were two other women in the room, chatting and taking care of thier kids. Every time they'd laugh too loud, or the hand dryer would go off in the bathroom next door, Liam would pull of and look around curiously. This would result, unfailingly, in a spectacular disply of fountaining milk. Pretty! Messy! Liam's face would get soaked, as would all surrounding items.
The women in the room thought it was hilarious.

In other news, Jim dropped the baby. Let me explain. We got home from our visit (see above), and I was getting Caleb and Aidan from the car while Jim got the baby, who was sleeping like an angel or a dove or some other innocent, beautiful creature in his carseat. I heard something drop to the ground...something which sounded very much like a carseat with my baby in it. Being me, I dropped everything, screamed, and ran around the car. Jim was examining the poor kid guiltily. Liam was stuck in one of those silent screams...you know the kind. His face was a mask of shock and anger; his mouth stretched into a large "O", his eyes squeezed shut. That lasted about 5 seconds, and then he got his breath and the piteous wailing started. I unlocked his straps and pulled him from the seat, shushing him and holding him tightly against me. He cried, hard, for a while - hiccoughing and gasping for enough air to sustain his efforts.

He's fine. Jim feels awful. And I held him, cooing and kissing his sweet little head, for waaaay longer than he needed me to. I knew something like this would have to happen...it always does...is it horrible that I'm glad that Jim committed the act and not myself?