When I was at my parents’ while in San Francisco, I basically made myself at home with all my pumping gear and bottles: I laid out a towel to put all the bottles in the kitchen. I set up my pump with the pump parts on Ed’s old desk. I also walked around liberally with my breast pump connected as though no one was there. No one really commented on it; my mom knew I was pumping, so she didn’t say anything. My aunt and her roommate upstairs never said a word or even acknowledged that I had a nipple sucker connected. And my dad? Well, he averted his eyes whenever he saw I had my “brrr, brrr” device on.

One day, I did leave the cap on my second pump tube on the dining table. My dad found it and came over to me. “You left your… device piece on the dining room table,” he said.

My “device”? Do you mean… my breast pump piece?

Hahahahhahahahahaha. My dad is so awkward that he couldn’t even say “breast pump” or “pump.”