No, no, not Jane. She's fine. She had another quiet day at the ICN, getting her snuggles and baths with the nurses.
I, on the other hand, nearly had a heart attack this morning when I discovered that our fridge is dead. D-E-A-D. Dying, actually, but it won't be long before it gives out altogether.
"Oh," I can hear you thinking. "Bummer. Um, not exactly a tragedy."
Not a tragedy? Look at what I nearly lost!
Two months' worth of milk. TWO MONTHS. When I discovered the thawed milk on the door I completely lost my... mind. I ran upstairs and basically threw Tom into the car and shrieked, "FREEZER. NOW." And bless him, he came through (with some help from our excellent friend Jennifer and her wonder truck). We already had a half-size freezer chest -- long since filled, I hasten to add -- but now we've got the Mac Daddy, holds half a steer, deep freeze of the gods. Thanks to the sheer volume of what I'd stuffed the fridge freezer with, the majority of the milk stayed frozen, so the transfer was made without incident and I almost passed out from relief. I even mapped out the contents of the new freezer, complete with a list of which months are in which compartments. There's nothing like a near miss to get me motivated. (Why is the expression "near miss"? I mean, I did miss. Shouldn't it be "near hit"?)
To help you understand my emotional trauma, a brief photo essay for your consideration.
The pump room at the hospital. Two months' worth of milk represents approximately 100 hours strapped to one of those machines.
My lovely assistant will now demonstrate:
(Yes, she really does do that when she goes to the pumping room with me. I did NOT set up that shot. And yes, she will hate me when she's thirteen and learns I put that photo online for all the world [well, for all forty-two of you] to see.)
Here's another taste of what I go through five or six times a day. (At least my brother-in-law will find that hilarious. The rest of you are starting to question my taste level.)
Near tragedy, my friends. Near tragedy indeed.