Honey, I’m Sorry I Ate All Your Lactation Cookies


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I was up late with Taylor and just got so hungry. I know you’re having trouble making enough milk for the baby. Maybe that determined look on your face as you popped them in the oven should have led me to ask why, with a newborn in the house, you decided to bake cookies for the first time ever. OK, yeah, I guess there was that other time a few Christmases ago … for your office potluck. Anyway, the cookies were delicious. Not chocolate chip good, but not bad.

I’m sorry too that I drank all the oatmeal stouts you’d bought. Thing is, it was like 2 am, and I hadn’t slept a wink, and Taylor wouldn’t let me put her down, and I went to the fridge, and what do you know? Fresh out of Sierra Nevadas! You’ve never liked oatmeal stouts, so I figured they were up for grabs. It didn’t occur to me that one might drink beer, of all things, to promote lactation. How funny.

I also deeply apologize for finishing the hummus and that wacky concoction you made with the salmon, spinach, and carrots. Little did I know that those foods are supposed to encourage milk production. It was late, you know, and Taylor finally let me put her down for a minute, and I figured if I got rid of that stuff I’d free up some room in the fridge for more Sierra Nevadas.

Speaking of drinks, I didn’t realize how badly I’d blown it when I took some pieces of your breast pump to use in my homebrew kit. It’s just I needed some tubing and one of those little flange thingies and it was really late and Taylor had pooped for like the fifth time and I wanted to move my triple-hopped nitro IPA to the next stage before I changed her. Yeah, I get it, an intact breast pump is important, especially for someone with lactation issues. But I know how I’ll make it up to you: for my next batch, I’m planning to brew an oatmeal stout.

What? I’ve been touching my chest a lot lately and you think it’s weird? Why does that sound like an accusation? Because my chest looks … well, not to brag, but I’ve upped my bench press recently. Hmm, oh yeah, I guess it’s true that I haven’t been to the gym since before Taylor was born. Well, maybe I’ve just been drinking too many oatmeal sto … er, I mean, Sierra Nevadas.

No, I hadn’t noticed that Taylor’s kind of clingy with me during feeding times. I have no idea why. I mean, she feeds like a gazillion times a day, right? Maybe she just loves her dada. Did you ever think of that?

Really now, so you’ve noticed that the fronts of my shirts are damp when you’ve put them in the laundry? I hadn’t a clue. It’s probably from Taylor. Maybe she’s, like, drooling on me. Heck, I’m so tired right now that maybe I’m drooling on myself. Ha-ha.

Fine, it’s not drool. Maybe it’s just sweat then. Like from Taylor resting on me. Sure, it’s February and we’re experiencing record cold, but it’s 66 degrees in here. You try laying there with seven pounds and four ounces of baby on you in 66 degree heat and see if you don’t start perspiring like mad, too.

By the way, that’s why Taylor was resting on my bare chest when you walked in the other night. I was hot. I don’t know why you seemed so pissed off. I mean, maybe her mouth was attached to my nipple and her chin was bobbing up and down as she gulped voraciously and I rubbed her cheek with my finger and we gazed deeply into each other’s eyes in a shared parent-child bliss you’ve never gotten to experience and when you came in and surprised us I broke the seal and a substance that looked suspiciously like milk sprayed out all over the room and Taylor started wailing, but you need to stop making everything about you and your womanhood already.

You’re getting hysterical. Look, I get it, being a new mom is tough. It’s not exactly a barrel of laughs being a new dad either!

Hey, listen, if you’ve got something to say to me, why don’t you just go ahead and … Shhh! Hear that? Taylor’s crying. She must be hungry. Whew … I mean, damn. We’ll have to take this up later. Don’t worry, I’ll feed her.

What? Oh, yeah. The bottle. Of course I need the bottle! I forgot. Must be daddy brain. Right.

Just relax. Have a Sierra Nevada. There should be plenty. I was thinking of cutting down myself, actually. At least until Taylor starts solids.


A scientist by training and a policy analyst by trade, Josh Trapani lives in Washington, D.C. His fiction has appeared in Issues in Science & Technology, and he reviews and blogs regularly for the Washington Independent Review of Books. He is working on a novel about climate change that’s kind of funny.

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