Who said a person shouldn’t cry over spilt milk? Who was it?
Because I just might hit that person – at least, that’s what I was thinking when I dropped a bag of milk in the fridge and it turned over, spilling a precious ounce of the white stuff from an overfull five ounce storage bag. The person who declared that one shouldn’t cry over spilled milk never had to make it themselves. They never had to steal precious time, thrice daily, to get it. They didn’t have to carry two extra bags with them to work, bottle it, store it, refrigerate it, label it, and make sure clean nipples were atop it. They never had to try to make enough to feed a growing baby today as well as shore some up to feed that hungry baby tomorrow.
I didn’t cry over the milk though. I just sighed and cleaned it up, resealed the bag, and put it back in the fridge. I actually didn’t give it another thought, until I heard The Boy this morning, preparing Petals’s bottles. He dropped the same bag, spilling some of the milk. He swore loudly…and I could swear that I heard his voice waiver, just the slightest bit, as if about to cry.