Gwen: Is that it?
Me: *lifts bottle of breast milk, looks at liquid level, looks back at Gwen, nods* That’s probably not the nicest thing to say to a newly-breastfeeding, hormone-filled bitch trying to satiate all 10lbs of Paulie the Boob Slayer.
Me: 20 minutes AFTER the other excruciating 45 minutes where little Chucky attacked my tits like they were Jennifer Tilly…or whoever Chucky attacked. Did I even watch those movies? What’s my name again?
Gwen: So I guess it’s still hurting?
Me: The movie?
Gwen: The breastfeeding.
Me: Oh. That. If this cracking and bleeding keeps up, Paul will be having a lovely rose for dinner.
Gwen: Huh. Everything I’ve read says it’s supposed to be pleasant, great even. It’s supposed to release endorphins and everything. It’s supposed to be like sex.
Me: Clearly those people are into an entirely different kind of sex.