The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1098 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It took a little while for everyone in the family to learn of my little miracle in turning into a feeding station for the baby. Julie was disgusted that I hadn’t told her at breakfast, and sulked.

When I popped out my queen sized boobs for the baby to suck on, I seemed to replace the television as the entertainment for the night. “Can I have boobies, too, Mummy?” asked Trish pulling up her top and showing a flat chest.

“Me too, Mummy,” said Livvie doing the same.

“I wannem too,” added Mima and Billie stood behind her nodding furiously.

“What’s made it happen?” asked Simon, his eyes absolutely riveted to my exposed breast. I shrugged because I didn’t know the answer.

“Um–I did it,” said Trish blushing.

“How did you do that?” asked Billie.

“I asked Jesus to help us feed Baby Catherine.”

I was a bit alarmed at the religious implication, which I assumed was a red herring, but if Trish believes in such superstitious outcomes, she’ll be hooked on it for life. Now wasn’t either the time or place to have a word with her, and even if I did it wasn’t guaranteed to have much effect.

In a recent study, people were shown to hold fast to erroneous views even after they were shown evidence which proved them wrong, and this was based on an emotional judgement not a cognitive one. So if you believe something, even if it’s wrong, you’ll still believe it after being shown it’s wrong.

Simon looked at her in astonishment, “Pity Gordon Brown didn’t know you a few months ago,” he added and smirked.

“Did he want to breast feed? I could still ask for him,” Trish volunteered.

“No, doesn’t matter now, we have a right tit in his place instead.” Simon opined and I cringed at his language. “Still maybe you could do it for Dave the Chamaeleon instead, he’s got a new baby–yeah, give his wife a hand with feeding his baby.”

“I’ll ask tonight, Daddy, when I say my prayers.”

This was news to me, but I couldn’t let Simon make her a butt of his jokes. “Don’t be silly, Simon–Daddy’s joking, Trish, he doesn’t mean it.” I glowered at Si who got the message, that if he wanted a milkshake tonight, he’d better behave.

“Yeah, I’m only joking, kiddo.”

Trish folded her arms and huffed and puffed before deciding that the bag of sweets he was offering as a bribe was sufficient compensation. It took her at least two nanoseconds; then she snatched them from his hand and she and Livvie, Mima and Billie went off to eat them.

Danny came home and asked what was for tea, “Milkshakes, get in the queue,” said Simon as he noticed what I was doing.

“Is that–um, I mean–are those real?” gasped Danny nearly walking into the back of a dining chair.

“Yes, what did you think they were–oxygen tanks?” I said back.

“Wow, kewl.” I unplugged the baby and he saw my nipple–“Yeah, really kewl.” He ran off up the stairs to do what–I didn’t want to know. He reappeared ten minutes later looking very flushed and Simon sniggered. I was too busy changing the baby’s nappy to say anything.

It took me three quarters of an hour to prepare the curry and I made two lots, adding some stronger spices to that meant for Simon and Tom. I ladled in a few large spoonfuls of curry powder and chilli, mixing it into the sauce and simmered for a few minutes. Then I dished it up for everyone–the rest getting the mild one, the two men the stronger version.

I sat down and ate a jacket potato with some of the chopped turkey I’d baked in a gravy sauce. “I hope it’s not too hot,” I said to Simon, who sniggered, Tom also smirked.

“It cannae be tue hot, lassie,” commented Tom.

“You’re absolutely right there, Gramps,” agreed Simon.

They took well loaded forkfuls and a moment later they gave me a very strange look. “I did warn you it was hot.”

Mima sniggered and Trish smirked.

Simon fanned his open mouth with his hand, then gulped down a glass of wine. Not the best thing to do to cool one’s gullet.

“Yoghurt,” I spluttered through a mouthful of potato.

By this time, Tom was looking decidedly red faced, so I plonked the carton of yoghurt in front of him. He tore it open and dumped a pile on his plate, which he then shovelled down his throat. Simon grabbed the carton and swallowed down the yoghurt. It wasn’t true that you could hear his throat sizzling as he swallowed.

Neither men ate anything else that night and Tom didn’t even have his usual tot of whisky, he just sipped ice water for the rest of the evening and neither seemed to want to talk much either.

The girls thought it was hilarious, and even Danny, who enjoyed his curry chuckled, “It cannae be too hot, lassie,” he joked in a very poor Scots accent.

“You be careful, I don’t think Gramps is feeling in a good mood,” I cautioned him. He giggled then went very red and left the room.

After all that, my jacket potato was very nice.

In bed later that night, I expressed some milk into a bottle with Simon hovering obviously wanting to be involved but being a bit schoolboyish about asserting himself.

“Oh for goodness sake, Simon, if you want to work the pump, do so–don’t faff about like an ataxic melon.”

“Like a what?” he blushed.

“Here, stick this over my nipple and squeeze the rubber bulb,” I handed him the pump, “Gently–geez, you don’t know your own strength–you nearly sucked out my thymus then.”

He blushed and with shaking hands tried again, the power I realised suddenly I had over this lump, who was nearly twice my size and strength made my head swim. He was absolutely fascinated by a simple act of nature–well okay hardly simple in my case, but the only chance he’s likely to get to play with a pair of lactating boobs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this?”

“Why? Who else should I ask?”

“No, I mean–I never thought you’d be able to do this.”

“I’m not, you are.” I knew perfectly well what he meant but I was in need of a bit of play.

“No, you, producing milk. I mean, how did you manage that?”

“I have no idea, maybe Trish was right.” I shrugged and the pump slipped off my breast and he nearly spilt it.

“Can I try some?” he asked blushing and almost squirming.

“Let’s see how much we have first.” I took the pump and tipped it into the bottle. I had about half a bottle. It would do for a small feed. “Pop that in the fridge for me will you, oh and rinse out the pump and pop it in the Milton box. (A chemical disinfection container for bottles and other baby things).

While he was gone I drank half a glass of water, I knew I had to keep hydrated if I wanted the milk to continue flowing. He came rushing back puffing and blowing like an old man.

“Where’s my taster?” he said looking at the bedside table for a glass of my magic juice.

“Still in the box.” I said and smiled flirtatiously at him.

“Oh, I see,” he said and climbed on the bed.

“You’re going to have to earn it.”

“I just did, I took the stuff downstairs for you.”

“Huh, I could have got one of the kids to do that and they wouldn’t expect any reward, they’re happy just to help.”

“Cut to the breast–I mean chest–I mean chase,” he spluttered and I giggled so much that some milk oozed out.

“Help yourself–the milky bars are on me!” I giggled and you can imagine what happened next.