My breast pump rests gently on BB’s changing table, delicately leaning against the four inch border at the top. That small wall is the only protection that pump has from the dark, richly colored hardwood floor. One small, chubby, flailing arm and chaos will undoubtedly ensue.
Yes, my pump has fallen several times, however I can only say to my husband, “I’d really like a small stand or table next to the chair” so many times. Once I thought I actually did break it (it was not covered by our insurance, either), but somehow through the grace of God it began working again after unplugging it several times and crying while BB just stared at me. This is why I cannot have nice things.
And yet, here we are. I live on the edge.