Making Mammory Memories

Ok, so the dog didn't eat my latest blog posting, but I still have a good excuse for being somewhat absent.

The whole biology of having a baby is so much easier than the paperwork these little tykes entail. I've spent much of what little free time I (and any new parent) have volleying about the city trying to add Quinn to our health insurance. The medical statements forwarded by my parents must be the cause of my new grey because in a little over a month, the digits add up into the hundreds of thousands. Suffice it to say, this hasn't been a cheap admittance to a little girl's early existence.

Aside from said medical minutia, I've been suckered into frequent fundraising for the Ronald McDonald House. Considering this organization has salvaged my sanity, it's the least I can do. Apparently, my little story works at making people dole out the cash; so there's at least some satisfaction knowing I can contribute to society (or someone!) in some small way.

However, last night's event was a bit off the hook for this Mormon mountain town.

My new friend Tiffany, also a NICU Mom (and the other mooring to which my mental health is kept upright), accompanied me to a cocktail fundraiser at someone's house in Park City. Since neither of us have had any alcohol in a number of months, we carefully sipped on our glass of wine while sharing our sob stories about how the Ronald McDonald House has helped us stay stable and sane through the unexpected.

For some, the party may have started long before we arrived. Although nearly everyone there was very senior to us, a few became far too friendly as there was no preservation of personal space. (I told myself that if those extra -- and unsolicited -- hugs and kisses brought some extra bucks to this charity, then it probably was worth pimping myself out for a few hours to some wealthy elderly folk.) Another woman, who made the night quite exceptional wasn't so much touchy as spacey as she asked us the same two questions every few minutes while never losing a gleefully glazed look.

With our milking schedules all amok, Tiffany and I eventually left. We drove into town where we excitedly hoped to have some sushi before spending the rest of our waking hours in the NICU.

Parked in a dark lot, we laughed at ourselves and the bizarre memories the night was bringing as we pulled out our individual pumps and hooked ourselves up like diary cattle. All set to go, the plan was foiled when (no -- thankfully, not the police interrupted) but the power on my pump failed. After several frustrating minutes of trying to troubleshoot the dumb thing, we gave up and walked into the building to find a bathroom in which we could hook up our boob gear.

Since we were on a roll with odd luck, it wasn't until we were again all hooked up to our equipment at the sink in a public bathroom (surely scaring anyone who walked in), that we discovered that outlet didn't work either.

With our mammary glands ready to pop from an overload of milk, we desperately sought out any -- functioning -- electrical outlet to plug into. Unabashedly, Tiffany and I ended up in an open stairwell of a building that housed several restaurants (including the sought after sushi stop).

Nearly peeing my pants from laughter as people uncomfortably walked by (and wondering if we were braking some subtle Utah law), we pushed the limits on public display of milking. We did contemplate making this a habit through which we could create a series of postcards of the various public places we might be found pumping.

Of course, by the end of our saga we lumbered our freshly made milk and ridiculous equipment back to the sushi restaurant, only to see the "closed" sign dangling in the window. Considering our hankering for having sushi (after many months of eating so cautiously) was a pivotal reason for our agreement to interrupt our NICU schedule and drive out to Park City, we remained undeterred by this latest snafu to our plans.

Luckily, the chef behind the bar was a bit uncomfortable with talk of our breastmilk and insisted we and our bottles of moo sit down and focus on the menu.

As expected, we found a number of appetizing aliments to quench our stubborn craving for sushi, and even brought some back to the NICU when we returned late that night. There, we each spent a few hours with our kids (Tiffany has twins), all of whom were in great health. Quinn was particularly alert and playful, which made the long night especially sweet (regardless of the sushi).

So, that's the latest (and perhaps most random and uninteresting, but hopefully humorous) news from Salt Lake City . . .

Mama & Quinn Murphy